


Where Lies the Heart

by Salvia_G



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, HobbitHolidayExchange, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 77,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvia_G/pseuds/Salvia_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though the Company of Thorin Oakenshield has all survived the Battle of Five Armies, not everyone has come through unscathed; and all is not well under the mountain.  Ori has loved Kili for a long time, but Kili is keeping secrets that may drive them apart before their romance ever has a chance to begin.</p><p>Written for the Hobbit Holiday Exchange, as a gift for the ever lovely and amazing Tagath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ibijau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibijau/gifts).



> I was so pleased to draw Tagath's name in the Hobbit Holiday Exchange, as I have been reading and admiring their stories for a long time! And it was definitely a challenge to me (though a terribly fun one), as it was my first time to write this pairing or use Ori as narrator, and the story just would not stop growing...
> 
> But I hope that you enjoy this, Tagath; and Happy Hobbit Holiday!
> 
> p.s. I did my best with the angst; it's just such an integral part of my nature! But I DO promise to deliver the requested happy ever after along with the (unavoidable) angst, so I hope that makes up for it.

 

 

For Ori, the battle was a savage blur; he fought side by side with his brothers, Dori fussing constantly at him:  “Get down; get down!  To your right, Ori—watch out!  I’m going to march you right back to that mountain, just see if I don’t; you are too young for this nonsense...”  Nori at least didn’t try to tell him what to do or threaten to haul him back into Erebor, but he did stand between Ori and any opponent whenever he could.  It made it harder to fight, not easier, as Ori always had to hesitate before he swung Mister Dwalin’s war hammer for fear of hitting his brother instead of the Orc facing him.  But it did mean that Ori was protected at the turning point of the battle; and as they fought on the slope of the mountain overlooking the battle spread across the valley, he saw it all.

 

On the far side of the valley the Elves held a firm line that the Orcs crashed and frothed and dashed themselves futilely against.  The Men and Orcs foamed back and forth across the valley floor like the tide, and Ori couldn’t tell who would win; though he could see the Man who had killed Smaug—was Bard his name?  Ori thought so—he held the centre, and the Men rallied around him again and again even as the Orcs pressed hard against them.  The Dwarves held the slope of Erebor, but there the Orcs led by Azog had forced a wedge into the Dwarven army aimed straight for the line of Durin.  Doughty fighters as they were, Dain’s army could not hold back the numbers the Orcs threw against them; and though the Company fought hard—Ori’s heart soared with pride and fear to see them in the midst of battle—there were only so many thirteen Dwarves could fight.

 

Thorin and Fili fought back to back; and Kili, protected from the majority of the Orcish wave by his uncle and brother, used his bow to great effect from that relative safety.  Ori couldn’t breathe when he saw him in the midst of battle and he knew it was an unwise distraction, but he couldn’t stop looking for Kili whenever a break in his part of the battle gave him a view of Thorin and his sister-sons.  So he was watching when it happened.

 

The Elven prince and the captain of their guard had somehow been cut off from the body of the Elven army; and though the Elves fought in a frenzy to reach them, it seemed impossible that the Elven forces should be able to break through the Orc’s pincer before both the prince and his guard were dead; they were mere moments from being overrun.  Kili, searching for his next target, must have seen them.  Ori couldn’t say why he did what he did next; certainly the Elven prince had shown them only hostility during their time in the Mirkwood.  Nevertheless, Kili drew three arrows and fired them off almost faster than Ori could see—and it was enough.  The Elven captain had been severely wounded, Ori thought, but Kili’s precise shooting had taken down three Orcs in the pincer’s weakest point.  The Elvish army flooded through the gap and surrounded the prince and his guard.

 

The aloof Elf king had led that charge, and as Ori observed Thranduil’s gaze crossed the valley to see Kili standing by Fili and Thorin, already looking for his next target.  Ori despaired when he saw them; Thorin fought Azog, but he was not winning the battle even with Fili by his side.  As Ori watched, Kili was forced to drop his bow in favour of his sword as his protected space disappeared under a wave of Orcs.  None of the Company was in a position to help; though Dwalin fought like a berserker to reach his king’s side, Ori thought it impossible for him to be there in time.  And the bulk of Dain’s army had been cut off from the three Durins by the Orcish wedge.

 

But after a moment that seemed to Ori to last forever, Thranduil pointed; and the Elvish forces obeyed.  A wave of arrows sliced into the closest side of the Orcish throng and it faltered under the onslaught, giving Thorin and his nephews a much-needed reprieve from the Orcs’ attack.  And then a phalanx of Elves almost flew across the valley to their side.  Fili lay unmoving on the ground after standing between Thorin and a terrible blow of Azog’s mace.  Ori could not tell if he yet lived or not, but Thorin had not fallen though he was driven back.  Kili had stepped up to take Fili’s place protecting Thorin—Ori was terrified to see it—but then the Elves were there, coolly cutting down Azog’s forces, driving them back from the Dwarven king and his heirs, standing between them and what had seemed to be certain death only moments before.

 

Thorin stumbled as he fought Azog, but the White Warg had been killed by Elven arrows.  Azog himself, however, fought on; and Ori was not sure Thorin would overcome him.  The Elves, he had realised quickly, protected Thorin only as it was necessary because Kili fought to protect Thorin; it was Kili who had saved the Elf prince and so it was for Kili alone their king had sent reinforcements.  Ori did not want to see Thorin fall, but oh!  To know Kili would be safe!  He would never say a word against Elves again.  And for a moment it seemed that Thorin would fall, as a hit from Azog’s mace struck his right shoulder while Kili tried in vain to push past the Elves protecting him to stand between Azog and Thorin just as Fili had.  Orcrist dropped from Thorin’s fingers and he fell to his knees, scrambling for his sword with his left hand as Azog raised his mace again.

 

But—Ori was not sure what he saw at first.  Azog seemed to trip—on what, Ori did not know; there was nothing there!  He didn’t fall, but he staggered in place—and then his mace fell from his hand and he clutched at his thigh—he was bleeding, bleeding heavily from a wound high near his groin—Ori had no idea how; he had been watching and he had seen nothing!  Thorin only now climbed falteringly to his feet with Orcrist in his left hand, his right dangling uselessly from his side; the attack could not have come from him; nor was there an arrow in the wound and Ori _had been watching_ ; he would have seen it!  _Nothing_ had hit Azog, and then suddenly he was mortally wounded, blood flowing copiously down his leg—spurting from the wound, even!  The artery must have been severed.  Azog was strong and had not fallen yet, but he was dead nonetheless; it was only a question of when.

 

And then Dori was yelling at him again and Ori must lift Mister Dwalin’s war hammer and look to his own defence.  In those few moments the battle had turned, however; Azog’s faltering seemed to have sapped the confidence of the Orc army, and the allied forces of Elves, Men and Dwarves surged forward to take advantage of their hesitation.  As Ori yelled “ _Du Bekar!”_ and charged with his brothers at his side, he heard a great roar as if from a terrible beast; and then Beorn in his bear shape was at Thorin’s side; and then voices were crying, “The Eagles are coming!  The Eagles are coming!”  With the help of these two great allies, the Orcs and Wargs were soon decimated.  The Battle of Five Armies was over; and though many had fallen—and Ori worried that Fili might be one of them—still they were victorious.

 

And _Kili_ —Ori looked again; yes.  Kili lived.

 

Kili _lived_.

 

But Ori’s belief that the battle had ended was precipitous; although the majority of the Orcish forces fled in disarray, still some fought on—hemmed in by their enemies or too caught up in battle’s fury to retreat.  As Ori turned his attention from watching Kili back to his brothers, a small group of trapped Orcs burst out from a nearby crevice between two sheltering boulders.  Ori raised Mister Dwalin’s war hammer to defend himself, but he knew he would be too late; the first of the Orcs were upon them and Ori not only stood on his own but also was closest to the attacking group.  One of the most forward Orcs raised his weapon—Ori swung the war hammer although he knew he would not be fast enough—and then Dori was there, pushing Ori behind him and gutting the Orc attacking him even as the Orc’s mace came down hard on Dori’s head.

 

Ori screamed as Dori crumpled to the ground.  “Dori, no!”

 

When he heard Ori’s scream, Nori turned and howled with rage as he dashed to stand protectively at Ori’s side; several nearby Dwarves of the Iron Hills came to their assistance as well.  The small band of Orcs was soon dead, but Dori lay still at their feet, blood running onto the ground from the wound on his head.  Ori dropped to his knees next to Dori, but then...he hesitated.  He wasn’t Óin; he didn’t know what to do to help Dori.  Stop the bleeding somehow, but he wasn’t sure what he should do...and what if Dori’s brain were wounded?  How could he do anything to aid in its recovery?  Nevertheless Ori tried to press down on the external wound with his hands, but even there it wasn’t enough.  Blood continued to pour from Dori’s head as Ori’s vision blurred with tears.  He was only vaguely aware that Nori knelt by his side until he spoke.

 

“Ori, we can’t help him here; we’ve got to get him to a healer,” Nori said.  “Come _on_ , Ori!”  He motioned Ori to lift Dori’s feet as he lifted Dori’s shoulders himself.  Ori blinked away his tears and shook off his daze to do as Nori had told him.  Several of the Iron Hills Dwarves stepped forward to help and together they hurriedly carried Dori to the protected area where tents had sheltered Men and Elves during their siege.  Ori could only hope that there were healers ready to help the wounded camped there.  If Dori’s bleeding could not be stopped...and even if it could, Ori feared that Dori might not recover.  Even hard-headed Dwarves sometimes never woke from a wound to the head such as this one.

 

Together the Elves, Dwarves and Men had held back the Orc and Warg armies’ attack; but if Dori died because he was protecting Ori, Ori was not sure he cared anymore.  He would never be able to live with the guilt.

 

Healers had already set up to receive the battle’s wounded in tents marked by red flags, and after a healer glanced quickly at Dori’s wounds they were directed to one of these.  Nori paused when upon entering the tent they found that it was Elven healers waiting there, but Ori pushed him forward.

 

“A healer’s a healer, Nori!” he cried fiercely.  “Move!”  Nori frowned at him but led the Dwarves carrying Dori to one of the several cots in the tent and then stepped aside so that the healers could assess Dori’s condition.  Ori was both encouraged and terrified to see how quickly the Elves moved once they saw Dori’s wound.  The healers had waved the Dwarves out of the way, and the Dwarves of the Iron Hills had left when they did; but Ori and Nori refused to leave, only moved out of the way as best they could.  Nori’s grip was too tight on his hand.

 

It seemed forever to Ori as they watched the healers care for Dori, but it must have been only minutes later that Fili was brought into the tent, Kili by his side, and then two other injured fighters:  a Man and an Elf.  The healers were busy tending to the newly arrived wounded when Thorin pushed into the tent with Dwalin at his side.  He nodded briefly at Ori and Nori when he saw them standing by Dori, but rather than stopping to speak to them went directly to Fili’s cot.  Kili had not turned to see him enter; but when Thorin’s hand came to his shoulder, he looked to see who was behind him.  When he saw that it was Thorin, he threw his arms around him and clung to him like a child as great rasping sobs escaped him for the first time.  Thorin’s good arm came up to hold Kili tightly, and Ori noticed for the first time that Thorin’s wounds had not yet been treated.  He had come to Fili first.  One of the Elven healers unceremoniously pushed Thorin and Kili back out of her way, and Thorin scowled fiercely; for a moment Ori thought that like Nori, Thorin might prefer to look for a Dwarven healer rather than accept help from these Elves.  But although his face was thunderous, Thorin said nothing.  After a minute, Dwalin cleared his throat.

 

“You’ve seen him, Thorin,” he said.  “Now come let someone look at your own wounds.”  Thorin looked as if he might protest, and Dwalin must have seen the same stubborn refusal in his face that Ori saw there.  “You’ll come willingly or I’ll toss you over my shoulder and you’ll come that way,” Dwalin told Thorin implacably.  Thorin frowned at Dwalin, but after a moment he also nodded curtly.  He released Kili gently.

 

“I will return as I am able,” he said.  “But though the battle is over, much is yet unsettled.  I do not know when I will be back.”  He carefully looked Kili over.  “You are unwounded?”

 

“A little bruised; maybe a few cuts,” Kili replied.  “You and Fili kept me from harm.”  Thorin nodded again, and then with a last gentle squeeze to Kili’s shoulder, he left the tent.  Dwalin did not follow him immediately.

 

“I know it’s hard,” he said, and he spoke to Nori and Ori as well as Kili, “but there are others on the battlefield who may yet be wounded but unable to seek healing without aid.  If we don’t find them now, many will not survive to be brought in at our leisure.”  Ori hung his head; it was terribly selfish of him.  He had thought only of Dori, not of any others.  He joined Dwalin at the entrance to the tent, pulling Nori with him.  Kili’s face, on the other hand, was set stubbornly in refusal; Ori thought he had never looked so like Thorin before.

 

“I won’t leave my brother,” he said.  Dwalin crossed his arms.

 

“And if it were Fili trapped out there while someone else’s brother refused to leave him?” he asked.  “You have grown up a carefree young warrior in Ered Luin, but now you are second heir to the throne of Erebor.  You have a responsibility to your people, to care for them and to set an example.”  Kili met Dwalin’s eyes, but only for a moment, before he hung his head in defeat.  He clasped Fili’s hand once more before reluctantly dropping it to join Ori and Nori as they followed Dwalin out of the tent.

 

Ori’s hands and clothes were still stained with Dori’s blood, but it hardly mattered as they joined the others searching the battleground for survivors; they were all covered in the battle’s grime.  Ori expected to see Men and Elves as well as Dwarves looking for the wounded who were trapped on the field, and he did; but he was shocked when without a word the Elf Prince and another Elf joined their search party, and then a Man joined them as the rest of his companions carried a crying and cursing warrior off the field.  The Prince’s eyes often fell on Kili in puzzlement, but he didn’t try to speak to any of their small group, only to the other Elf.  Ori recognized the melodious sounds as Sindarin but he understood no more than that, and he refused to ask.

 

Soon enough Ori was covered in more questionable filth than his brother’s blood.  Their search was as terrible in its way as the battle had been.  In some ways, it was worse, for the action of the battle had been so fast:  Ori had felt terror and anger, but he had not had room for thought or time to register all the horror of the battle.  But now their slow and careful search allowed him to see the whole of the devastation.  The aftermath of violent death surrounded them, and they must look closely at each body to determine if it was a corpse or a living being.

 

Most of those who remained on the field walked the halls of the dead already, but a few lived yet.  Those, they hurried to the healer’s tents.  There were also a few Orcs among the injured; Ori didn’t know what to do with them.

 

“Mister Dwalin,” he said as he pointed to the Orc lying hissing and helpless in front of him, both legs broken.  Dwalin looked, then met Ori’s eyes and raised an eyebrow.  “What do I do?”  Ori asked.  Without a word Dwalin drew his sword across the Orc’s throat.  Ori stared in shock.

 

“Orcs don’t make good prisoners,” Dwalin said.  “Maybe it seems harsh to kill one that can’t fight back; but it’s mercy, Ori.  They’ll die anyway, and better a quick death than a lingering one or the carrion feeders.  And they can’t be trusted at our backs.”  Ori nodded slowly, but inside he hoped he would have to kill as few as possible this way.  In defence and in battle it was different, but this...this was a colder act and Ori didn’t know if he could do it.  None of the others seemed to be fazed by Dwalin’s actions, however, not even the Man or the Elves.

 

Although Nori had been some yards away when Ori had asked Dwalin what to do with the Orc, he must have seen how it was for him; for not long after that Nori walked by Ori’s side, and it was he who slit the throats of those among the enemy who lived yet; and once, even a pale Man who had resigned himself to a lingering and painful death from his gut wound.  Ori was sickened to hear him beg for death; it was all he could do to kneel by the Man’s side, holding his hand.  He was forced to turn away when Nori did it lest he be sick.  Briefly his eyes met Kili’s, and he thought Kili was as appalled by the necessity as he; but they both looked away again quickly.  Ori couldn’t let himself think on it any more for fear of falling apart.  When Nori stood and began their search of the battlefield again, Ori pretended he didn’t see him wiping away tears.

 

Their search went on even after darkness fell, though they were greatly hampered while torches were their only light.  After about an hour of trying to see with such pitiful light, Dwalin shook his head and stomped off without a word in the direction of the camp.  Ori was not sure when he returned, but when he did Gandalf was with him.  His arm was in a sling and he seemed as exhausted as the rest of them, but he nevertheless raised his staff above his head and said a word Ori didn’t understand.  A great circle of light bloomed above their heads; and though it couldn’t illuminate the whole battlefield, it lit enough for them to continue searching.  Nor did Gandalf return to the camp afterward, but instead joined their search.  Rather than finding any nameless survivors, however, he seemed to have a particular goal in mind as he did.

 

“Kili,” he asked, “could you point out where Thorin fought Azog?  Would you recognize the place again?”  Kili took a deep breath and frowned before he answered.

 

“I’m not sure,” he said.  “I don’t—it was all such a mess.”

 

“Try, if you would,” Gandalf persisted.  “For there is one last member of the Company unaccounted for, and I suspect that may be the place he lies.  Whether he is alive or dead, I do not know; but I will do all I can to save him if it is possible.”  Kili and Dwalin both frowned at Gandalf, and Kili shook his head.

 

“But no one else fought with us,” Kili said.  “The Orcs cut Thorin away from the rest of the Dwarves as soon as they could, and it was all Fili and I could do to stand at his side until the Elves came to our aid.”  He paused to nod in acknowledgement of the two Elves in their party, and the Elves returned his nod gravely.  “All the rest of the Company were pushed away.  But...”  He looked.  “It was that way, I guess.”  He gestured broadly in a way that encompassed a good third of the battlefield.  Gandalf sighed and rubbed his forehead, but he began to move in that direction.  Ori looked around to orient himself, and recognized the rock formation that had sheltered the Orcs that attacked Dori about 100 yards away.  They were not far from the position on the rise he and his brothers had held most of the battle.

 

“Wait a moment, Mister Gandalf,” Ori said.  “I think I might...”  He hurried over to the rocks and stood as best he could where he had been when the Orcs attacked, then oriented himself so that he could find the spot he had fought alongside his brothers.  He turned so that he was facing the battlefield as he had when he had seen Kili fire those arrows in protection of the Elf prince.  Yes, it was there.  He pointed.  “There, Mister Gandalf,” he said.  “Can you move the light closer?”  With a wave of Gandalf’s hand, the shining mass above them floated in that direction.

 

“Oh, I see it!” Kili exclaimed.  “Ori’s right; it was right there!  See:  the White Warg, and beyond it, that must be Azog.  It was there.”  Without a word, Gandalf hurried to the spot.  Ori looked to Nori for guidance; but he was looking to Dwalin in his turn, who shrugged.

 

“We might as well follow,” he said.  “Seeing as he’s taking the light with him anyway.”  So the search party hurried after Gandalf.  For one so elderly in appearance, he could move quickly when he wanted to.  It was perhaps ten or fifteen minutes later when they reached the scene of Thorin and Azog’s duel.  Kili seemed pale and overwhelmed as he stood staring at a largish bloodstain that Ori assumed must have been from Fili’s wounds.  He wanted to offer comfort to Kili, but he wasn’t sure what he should say.  At any rate he didn’t know if Kili would want comfort from him, so Ori remained silent.

 

Instead he looked away to give Kili some privacy, and his eyes were drawn to Azog’s corpse.  The Pale Orc was terrible even in death, and Ori didn’t want to get any closer than he already was to him, but Gandalf approached until he was close enough to touch his lifeless body.

 

“What are we looking for, anyway?” Dwalin asked impatiently.  “There’s no one living here; and the more time we waste on this, the more worthy warriors could be dying out there—and if we can get them to care and shelter, they might live.”  He gestured to the wide battlefield, but Gandalf was unfazed.

 

“I am not sure that you are correct in thinking that there is no one to rescue here,” he told Dwalin, and all the time he was poking his staff into the air around Azog’s body, a few inches off the ground.  Ori thought it one of the strangest of many strange things he had seen the wizard do.  His eyes darted from Dwalin to Nori to Kili, but Dwalin and Nori seemed as puzzled as he was, and Kili was paying attention only to the bloodstained ground.  Even the Elf Prince, normally so supercilious, seemed confused; and the Man stared at Gandalf as if he thought him insane.  And then Ori remembered what he had seen in that confrontation between Thorin and Azog, and he thought he understood for the first time.

 

“Oh!” he exclaimed.  He stumbled forward and tried to orient himself.  Was it...  “Here, I think, Mister Gandalf!”  Ori carefully moved to where he thought Thorin had stood, and he walked forward from there, sweeping his feet in wide steps and bending to feel at what appeared to be empty air as he did.

 

“Ori?” Nori asked.  “What on earth?”

 

“He thinks Bilbo was here, and wearing his ring, and may be wearing it still,” Ori said, and Gandalf nodded.  Behind him he heard a sudden intake of breath, and then Kili was on one side of him and Dwalin and Nori on the other, carefully searching across the ground with their feet.  The Man only continued to stare.  The two Elves seemed at a loss.

 

“The Hobbit?” the Elf Prince asked; it was the first time the entire time he had spoken in Westron.  “Why wouldn’t we be able to see him?  What strange magic _is_ this?”  None of the Dwarves bothered to answer, too busy searching for the exiled member of their Company.  It was Gandalf who finally found him trapped almost entirely under Azog’s legs.

 

“Bilbo?” he said softly as he gently sought to figure out how he lay.  It looked very strange; Gandalf’s groping about and seeming to touch nothing.  “Yes, he’s here; and even better, he still breathes; though it seems he is unconscious. We must free him and see to his wounds, whatever they are.”  He gestured to Azog.  “See if you can lift Azog’s legs—straight up, mind; don’t roll him, and hold him up until I tell you it’s safe to put them down.”

 

The Man and the Elves still stared as Ori and the other Dwarves moved quickly to do Gandalf’s bidding.  He and Nori heaved on one leg and Kili and Dwalin on the other.  Just the one leg seemed to weigh nearly as much as Dori had when they carried him, but Ori gritted his teeth and held.  He didn’t have Dori’s strength; but although he might look puny for a Dwarf, he also knew himself to be stronger than he looked.  He didn’t know why Gandalf didn’t just yank Bilbo out from under Azog, but he seemed to be carefully feeling along Bilbo’s side.  When he seemed to be satisfied, he held one hand hovering in the air, closed his eyes and muttered too low for Ori to hear.  He smiled in satisfied relief for a moment, and then he collapsed.  The hovering light immediately blinked out, shrouding the battlefield in darkness again.  Ori could see only the shadow of movement as the Elf Prince moved carefully to Gandalf’s side and the Dwarves looked for each other in disbelief.

 

“Gandalf?” Dwalin called, and then he repeated, “Gandalf!  Gandalf!”  The Elf prince bent over Gandalf for a time, but the wizard remained unresponsive.  The prince sighed and turned to Dwalin.

 

“He lives; but he has exhausted himself.  I think he won’t wake for some time,” the prince told Dwalin before saying something in Sindarin to the other Elf.  Ori could hear the Elf moving away, and when he returned he had two lit torches with him.  He handed one to the Man.  _At least we can see each other again,_ Ori thought.  _But what next?_   He turned expectantly to Dwalin; but to his surprise, Dwalin was watching the Elf prince steadily as if he waited for guidance or agreement.  After a moment Dwalin nodded, as if in response to some signal Ori didn’t see, and the prince began to speak.

 

“Aerandir, you and the Man—“ he paused for a moment, looking expectantly at the Man.  It took the Man a moment to understand what the Elf was waiting for.

 

“I’m Stinn, your Lord,” he said.  The prince nodded in acknowledgement.

 

“Thank you, Stinn.  If you would:  you and Aerandir carry Gandalf down to the encampment; there is a place he may recover from his overexertion in the Elven camp,” he said.  The other Elf—Aerandir—opened his mouth in what was surely a protest, but the prince waved him off.  “And give me your torch.  I will follow shortly.”  Aerandir seemed unwilling as he bowed his head to the prince’s command, but nevertheless he and Stinn gently lifted Gandalf and began the trek back towards the tents pitched just beyond the edge of the battlefield.  The prince turned his attention back to Dwalin.

 

“If you are willing, I shall carry the Halfling back to my father’s tent,” he said.  “He will be treated with respect, and I will ensure his wounds are treated to the best of our healers’ abilities.  I think he may not be welcomed by your king.”  Dwalin sighed.

 

“I fear you’re right,” he told the prince.  “Take him, then.”

 

“Even after what he did with the Arkenstone, Bilbo is still part of our Company!” Kili protested.  “Thorin must understand, surely; he can’t turn him away!”  Ori was glad to hear Kili speak the words he had been afraid to utter.  But Dwalin shook his head in response.

 

“I’m not sure that’s true, lad,” he said.  “I’d like to think it, but I won’t risk Bilbo’s health on it.  We have no idea how he’s hurt, but that he’s still unconscious—that’s not good.  Better to let the Elves have him than have Thorin forbid any Dwarves treating him.”  Kili frowned into the darkness.  _Dori and Fili still lay unconscious as well_ , Ori thought.  He wondered if Dwalin’s words had reminded Kili of their brothers’ uncertain fate as well.

 

“May I, then?” the prince prompted.  Kili turned back to face him.

 

“Can you guarantee that any of us who want to see him will be able to, and not be turned away?” he asked.

 

“I do,” the prince responded.  “I will give word to the guards; you need only mention my name if you are stopped.”  Kili tilted his head and looked at the Elf prince for a long moment.

 

“And you are...” he prompted.  Ori was amused to see the prince blush.  It seemed that even poised and proud Elves could feel embarrassment just like any other person.

 

“Legolas,” he said.  “My name is Legolas.”  Dwalin huffed, but Kili gave him a stern look, a look worthy of Thorin, and Dwalin subsided.  For a moment Ori ached with pride and wistful desire to see Kili act the Dwarf prince, but in the next he was back to his regular self—the Kili Ori recognized.

 

“Go on then, get him,” he told Legolas.  “This brute’s not getting any lighter.”  Legolas snorted lightly, but he also stuck his torch in the ground before carefully moved forward.  After feeling around a bit, he must have found Bilbo, for he bent and lifted nothing—it was still bizarre to see; he seemed to be only pretending to carry empty air.  He moved away and the Dwarves could finally drop Azog’s legs with a sigh of relief.  Ori shook his tired arms out and went to get the torch, since Legolas’ arms were full of invisible Hobbit.  When he stood back up, torch in hand, Kili was standing by Legolas’ side, his hand seeming to hover in the air in front of the Elf’s chest.  With a weary laugh, he turned to the other Dwarves.

 

“It’s the strangest thing,” he said.  “I can feel him, but my eyes tell me he’s not there.”

 

“I know,” Ori said.  He moved closer to Legolas as well and extended his arm.  “May I?”

Dwalin huffed.

 

“We don’t have time to play Find the Hobbit,” he said.  “Let’s get Bilbo to the healers, and then you can pet him to your heart’s content.”  But then Ori heard a soft moan and his head snapped back to see the empty space in Legolas’ arms.

 

“Not a pet,” Bilbo slurred, and a moment later he was visible at last.  He was so covered in dirt and black Orc blood that it was impossible to see where or how he was wounded with the exception of one of his legs.  Ori shuddered; bone protruded from Bilbo’s left leg near the ankle.

 

“Bilbo!” Kili cried, and Ori knew he cried out as well.  “Oh, thank Mahal; you are safe now.”

 

“Is’t over?” Bilbo asked without moving or opening his eyes.  “Where’s Thorin?  Fili and th’others?  Safe?”

 

“All safe,” Kili reassured him.  “The wounded are already with the healers, which is where we’re taking you now.”  Bilbo nodded and then groaned.

 

“Ow,” he said.  “Shouldn’t do that.”  He paused.  “Sting?”  The Dwarves looked around, but Sting was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Come on then,” Dwalin sighed and gestured to them back to Azog’s corpse.  “Ori, hold the torch over here.  Nori and I’ll lift that bastard’s legs again; and Kili, you see if you can find Bilbo’s letter opener.”

 

“ _Sting_ ,” Bilbo insisted, and Dwalin snorted.  It might have been a huff of reluctant laughter; Ori wasn’t sure.  But he thought a trace of a smile whispered across Bilbo’s face when Kili placed his hands on Sting, which had indeed been hidden under Azog; and for all his gruffness, Dwalin’s hand rested a moment on Bilbo’s matted curls.

 

“Can we go at last?” Legolas asked.  “Even a Halfling grows heavy after a while.”

 

“’Sent that,” Bilbo said.  “But thank you for helping my friends find me, whoever you are.”

 

“I am Legolas,” the prince told Bilbo.

 

“Hmm,” Bilbo murmured as he pried an eye open.  “So y’are; imagine that.  Didn’t think you liked Dwarves much.”  He closed his eyes again and Legolas led the way back to the camp.  Ori hoped any remaining wounded survived until daybreak; but the moments of bitter dark after Gandalf’s light had died made it clear that they could do no more now.  And he was selfishly glad for the chance both to see Bilbo safe and to check on Dori again.  As soon as Bilbo was settled into the Elven camp, he and Nori said goodbye to go directly to Dori’s side.  His condition was unchanged; and after seeing that, Nori motioned Ori to lie down against the tent wall, out of the way of any healers.  His brother curled up behind him, and they slept that way until the first light of morning crept under the edge of the tent.

 

***

 

Kili had not returned to the healer’s tent before Ori fell asleep, but he was sitting by Fili’s side when Ori awoke.  He looked pale and exhausted, and his face was grim.  Exuberant Kili was never grim; to Ori it seemed another sign of all that had gone wrong since they came to the Lonely Mountain.

 

“Have you slept at all?” Ori asked him hesitantly.  Without turning to face him, Kili silently shook his head in response.  “You need to try,” Ori told him.  “Let me sit with Fili; I’ll wake you if he wakes or...I’ll wake you if anything changes.”  Kili shook his head again, and Ori sighed.  “Lie down with him; and if he stirs, you’ll feel it,” he suggested.  Kili finally turned his bloodshot eyes to look at Ori.

 

“Can’t,” he said hoarsely.

 

“You must,” Ori insisted.  “You’ll be useless to Fili if you don’t.”

 

“I’m useless to him already,” Kili replied as he hid his face in his hands.  “I hate it.  I want to help; I want to do something—and there’s _nothing_.  There’s nothing to do but wait.”  Ori flailed internally; he almost had to force himself to remain sitting by Nori’s side rather than take Kili into his arms.  He wanted to offer Kili more comfort than words could provide, but...  It was too presumptuous.  It wasn’t his place.  He had never dared say anything of his feelings to Kili before, and now...  Now he never would.  Dwalin had said it only yesterday.  Kili was second heir to the throne of Erebor, really and truly second heir to the throne of Erebor:  what had once been and would be again the greatest Dwarf kingdom of Middle Earth.  They sat in silence for a while, and then Ori pushed himself to his feet.  He could at least find breakfast for them.

 

When he returned with a handful of _cram_ and some strange drink of Men (it was bitter, but it was also hot; Ori had drunk his as quickly as he could stand it, for the morning had dawned clear and cold), Thorin sat with Kili.  Silently Ori offered them the _cram_ he had brought as well as the odd beverage the Men had given him.  He’d have to go back to get more for Nori, but Nori had not woken yet; there was time.  Kili took it listlessly, but he made a face at the drink and crumbled his _cram_ in his lap.  Thorin frowned at him and forced his own _cram_ into Kili’s hands.

 

“Don’t be a fool, Kili; eat,” he said sternly.  “Do you think to live on starlight and dew?  Eat that or be fed it like a child.  I’ve spoon fed you before and I’ll do it again if it’s needed.  There is enough worry to be had without adding you to it.”  Kili stared at the _cram_ in his hand.  He did not begin to eat it, but he didn’t tear it to pieces either.  Ori quietly crept from the tent again to go back to acquire breakfast for himself and for Nori.  If Thorin was scolding him like a Dwarfling, Kili wouldn’t want witnesses.  So Ori waited a while before returning to the healer’s tent where Dori and Fili lay, standing uneasily by the fire as he ate his own _cram_ and had another cup of the bitter drink the Men favoured.  He hoped that by the time he returned to the tent, Thorin would be done with his lecture.

 

In fact, Thorin was gone by the time Ori entered the tent again.  Better than that, Kili’s head rested on his arms, crossed on the side of Fili’s cot; Ori could even hear him quietly snoring.  Ori set Nori’s breakfast down on the ground by his head and then sat in the chair next to Dori’s cot.  He sat on his hands to prevent himself from brushing Kili’s hair away from his face.  He had no right, and he would have no excuse he could give should Kili wake.  When the Elven healer entered the tent to check on her patients, Ori was glad for the distraction.  There was nothing to do sitting by Dori’s bed but fret.

 

“Is there something I can do, please?” he asked her.  “I’d like to help if I can.”  She smiled tiredly at him.

 

“Do you have any knowledge of healing?” she asked.  Ori shook his head.

 

“Not much, my lady,” he said.  “I can clean and bandage wounds, but that’s about it.  I want to do something, though; it’s awful just sitting here.”  She looked at him measuredly.

 

“It is likely to be a dirty and thankless task,” she said.

 

“I don’t mind,” Ori replied.  “Those are the kind I’m usually given anyway.  And it’s something to do.  I...I just can’t sit here anymore.  I keep thinking he looks dead, and it will be my fault if...”  The healer tilted her head and gave him another long look.

 

“I am Ireth,” she said finally.  “You may call me Ireth, or Healer if you choose; but I am not a lady—there are few among us that we Elves consider worthy of such a title.  I will send you to one who will give you work.”

 

Half an hour later, Ori found himself digging a latrine pit, but he wouldn’t complain.  It was mindless labour and he still worried about Dori and Fili, but he could choose to focus on his aching muscles and his slow progress rather than whether or not his brother would recover—or what Kili would do if his own brother never woke.  He dug until he wouldn’t be able to climb out of the pit without help.  With a sigh, he stood next to the hole he had dug, leant on his shovel and looked back to the now bustling camp.  He was surprised to note that the sun was high in the sky.  The morning had passed as he laboured.  Bringing his shovel with him, he hurried back to the tent where Dori lay.

 

Nori had awoken and left the tent at some point, but Kili still slept with his head on Fili’s cot.  Ireth was nowhere to be seen; Ori supposed she must have many of the wounded under her care; he was sure she would return at some point.  Dori and Fili were silent and too still, but the Elf’s cot was empty and the Man lay wan but awake on his.  Ori nodded to him in greeting.

 

“Do you need anything?” he asked quietly.  The Man winced as he shook his head.

 

“Not unless you can stop the world from spinning,” he said.  Ori smiled briefly at him.

 

“Sorry about that,” he replied.  “I don’t think there’s anything that helps but time.”  The Man grunted and closed his eyes.

 

“S’pose I’ll try to sleep then,” he said.

 

“Are you allowed to do that?” Ori asked worriedly.

 

“Healer said I could,” the Man answered.  “Ask her if you like.”  Ori pursed his lips.  He would trust Ireth to know what she was about better than he did.  He lay the shovel down out of the way and went to wash his hands before seeing if he could find something to eat and then look for Nori and the rest of the Company.

 

Ori was cheered to see that there was a stew along with some sort of hard bread for lunch (the stew didn’t have much meat, but at least it wasn’t green).  There were other Dwarves standing by the communal fire, but they must be from the Iron Hills; Ori didn’t know any of them.  He nodded in polite greeting but was too shy to approach them.  Instead he stood alone, in a sort of zone separating the Dwarves from the Men from the Elves.  All three races were sharing the responsibility of feeding the armies, and Elves and Men mingled together more than either mixed with the Dwarves, but few seemed completely comfortable except with their own people.  After he had finished eating and returned his bowl and spoon to the cooks along with his thanks, he sighed and looked around.  He still didn’t see anyone he knew, but he did notice with some surprise that a flag bearing the seven stars of Durin’s crown flew from a tent not too far off.  He wondered where that had come from.  Not the Company, not unless someone had tucked it in a boot or wore it tied around his waist all the way from Ered Luin.  Not a single Dwarf of the Company had retained his original pack to the end of their journey.  Perhaps Thorin had it commissioned in Esgaroth?  But wherever it had come from, Ori didn’t doubt that tent was where he might find the rest of the Company.  He headed in that direction.

 

Most of the rest of the Company was clustered in and around the tent that flew Durin’s pennant; Ori thought he saw all of them in the crowd excepting only Bofur.  He looked everyone over worriedly, but though many sported bandages, it seemed none were worse hurt than Thorin—none but Dori and Fili.  Ori hurried to Bombur’s side.

 

“Is Bofur well?” he asked.  “I don’t see him.”

 

“He’s fine,” Bombur replied.  “Few cuts that needed stitching and a sprained knee.  I think he’s more upset that he lost his hat in the battle.  No, he was off to see Bilbo once Dwalin told us where he was; and he’s not back yet.”  Ori smiled to hear it.

 

“That’s the very best of news,” he told Bombur, and Bombur nodded back.  Ori turned his attention to Thorin, the axle the Company circled round.  He was speaking in a low voice to Balin, an imposing Dwarf Ori didn’t know standing by his side.  Ori inspected the stranger and saw that on one leg below the knee, the leg had been replaced by an iron support.  This Dwarf must be Dáin Ironfoot, then, Lord of the Iron Hills.  Ori moved closer to the trio to try to hear their conversation.

 

“It’s wrong,” Balin was saying as he approached.  “We wouldn’t be here but for Bilbo.”  Thorin glared at him in response.

 

“You forget yourself, cousin,” Dáin said.  “You stand at the foot of Erebor, and you will speak to your rightful King with respect.”

 

“If it were not for the Halfling, the Arkenstone would even now be mounted in its rightful place above the throne of my forefathers,” Thorin added implacably.  “Instead it is in the greedy hands of Men.  I will not change my mind.  I want him gone.  If he returns to Erebor, he will die the death of a thief and a traitor.”  Ori glanced around the Company.  They shifted uneasily and looked at the ground rather than each other’s eyes, all but Balin and Dwalin.  Balin looked at Thorin as if he were a disappointing student (Ori knew that look well; it had not often been directed at him, but he had not been Balin’s only apprentice; and the few times he had been the object of that look he had wanted to crawl into a hole like a rock worm).  Dwalin’s arms were crossed on his chest and Ori couldn’t read his face, but he didn’t speak in agreement with either Dwarf.

 

“A king should value his honour above a relic of his ancestors,” Balin said—screamed it, almost.  Thorin’s cheeks paled before he flushed red with fury; and at his side, Dáin roared.

 

“What has happened to the sons of Fundin?” he growled.  “Could he hear you, your father would have wished you dead at Azanulbizar in his place.  You will apologise and you will _obey your King_ , who has returned Erebor to Dwarvish hands; or I will beg him for the chance to shave that beard you prize so greatly and drag the pieces of your carcass under the feet of my Dwarves when we return to the Iron Hills so that your body may be smeared across miles of earth instead of returned to stone.  You would deserve nothing more for giving your loyalty to a soft Halfling instead of the King of Erebor.”  Balin’s lips firmed into a thin line, but other than that he gave no sign of having heard Dáin’s outrage.  The Company, however—the Company stilled, and Ori thought he was not the only one whose hand found a weapon, and Dwalin’s visage went from blank to thunderous.  But Thorin raised his hand to halt Dáin’s invective before anyone could threaten the Lord of the Iron Hills.

 

“Balin has long been a good friend and councillor to me,” he said.  “If in this one thing he is wrong, still he has supported me and fought by my side since the beginning of this quest—“

 

“Unlike some,” Dwalin muttered under his breath, and oh—the look of hatred Dáin shot him—

 

“And in every other matter his advice has been good,” Thorin continued without acknowledging Dwalin’s words.  “I do not believe him to mean treason, no matter how close to it he may tread in this moment.  I have spoken and now the subject is closed, and Balin is a wise Dwarf who will comply with my word.”  There was a long, tense silence before Balin dropped into a deep bow.

 

“I hear and obey your Majesty’s will,” he said stonily before turning his back on Thorin and walking away.  Dáin seemed infuriated again at the insult to Thorin, but Thorin shook his head at him before retreating into the tent.  After directing one last glare at Balin’s back, Dáin followed Thorin and the door flap dropped closed behind them with the Company scattered like broken shards on the outside.  Ori felt sick and his chest heaved with suppressed sobs.  Thorin and Balin fighting like that—Bilbo exiled still on pain of death—Dori and Fili unconscious, with no sign of whether they would ever wake...  He wished he had never left Ered Luin to come to this awful place.  Balin’s descriptions of the wonders of Erebor, Thorin’s glorious quest:  it was all a false facade laid over poison.  He fled back to the tent where Dori and Fili lay silent and still.  The Man and Kili appeared to be sleeping yet, so Ori grabbed the shovel from where it lay and hurried to the site of the latrines.  He didn’t have to muffle his sobs as he dug a new pit, for there was no one nearby to hear him.  It was shit.  It was all shit.  There would never be a hole big enough to bury it.  His tears fell as he dug and dug anyway.

 

He didn’t stop until it was too dark to see.  He felt empty and exhausted as he returned his shovel and reported on his progress.  The Elf who had tasked him seemed impressed with his labour, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.  There was a basin in the organiser’s tent and Ori rinsed his face and hands there before he went back to Dori’s side.  Nori was already sitting at Dori’s side; he looked up and shook his head sombrely as Ori entered.  No change, then.  Kili was also there, awake now; but he only looked up when he heard Ori come in and then returned his gaze to Fili’s lax face.

 

The healer—Ireth—knelt next to the Man’s cot; he was sitting up and quietly answering her questions.  She seemed pleased with his answers, for she smiled and patted his knee before she stood to check Fili.  Ori’s heart broke all over again to see the expression on Kili’s face:  hope and dread in equal measure.  He understood; he supposed he felt the same about Dori.  When she was done, Ireth met Kili’s expectant gaze calmly.

 

“There is no change,” she told him, “but there is yet hope.  He does not wake, but his heart beats steadily and he breathes easily.”

 

“But he will wake?” Kili asked hoarsely.  Ireth shook her head.

 

“I cannot promise that he will wake,” she answered.  “I believe it likely, but not all who suffer such injuries do; and there is nothing more we can do but care for his body the best we can.”  She sighed.  “And you must prepare yourself.  If he does wake, there may be long-lasting consequences yet to be seen.”  Kili nodded grimly, his hope clearly faded; and Ireth moved around Fili’s cot to assess Dori’s condition.  Ori bit his lip and wrung his hands as he watched her closely, but her serene expression did not change; and then Nori was next to him, holding Ori’s hands tightly in his own.  Ori squeezed tightly but couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ireth as she listened to his chest and lifted each of Dori’s eyelids, and then pinched his arm, and finally drew a feather across the bottom of his foot.

 

After all of that, she went to the bag she had left by the entrance to the tent and withdrew a flute.

 

“Stand there,” she told Ori briskly as she directed him to Dori’s feet, and then pointed Nori to stand at his head, “and you, there.”  Kili she motioned to Fili’s head and she herself stood at Fili’s feet.  “Watch,” she directed.  “You and I will watch their bodies:  arms and legs,” she told Ori, and then she told Nori and Kili, “You will watch their eyes.”  Ori stood uncertainly at Dori’s feet and watched his limbs as directed while Ireth confirmed that each of them was observing properly, then she lifted the flute to her lips and blew a loud, discordant blast on it.  Ori winced in response, but he kept his eyes on Dori.  He didn’t see anything.  Nori, though—

 

“He blinked!” Nori cried.  “I swear on the Maker’s forge he did!”  Ireth smiled.

 

“It is a good sign,” she said.  “It is not a guarantee, but it is good news.”  For himself, Ori’s heart leapt, but...he looked to Kili, whose face was a twisted mask of fear and grief.

 

“Nothing,” he finally forced out.  “He—nothing.”  Ireth’s gaze as she looked at him was full of a steady compassion.

 

“Nevertheless all hope is not lost,” she told him.  “We will continue as we have been.  Ilúvatar willing, he will recover.”

 

“Ilúvatar doesn’t have much use for Dwarves,” Kili replied bitterly.  He collapsed into his chair by Fili’s side and scrubbed his hands roughly across his face.  Before he knew what he did, Ori found himself two steps closer to him, hand reaching out helplessly; he fidgeted nervously in place when he realised what he had done.

 

“I will return later this evening,” Ireth said tactfully, and she gathered her things before quietly leaving the tent.  Ori looked between Kili and Nori, his hands twitching at his sides.

 

“I’ll go round up some dinner,” Nori said after a moment.  “Won’t be gone long at all.”  He squeezed Ori’s shoulder gently before following Ireth out of the tent.  Ori bit his lip and vacillated a bit before he went to kneel by Kili’s side.  His hand hovered a few inches from Kili’s back, but Ori couldn’t bring himself to close this final distance and touch him.

 

“I’m—“ he whispered.  “I know it’s not much, but...I’m here—“ 

 

Kili turned and threw himself into Ori’s arms.  His shoulders shook as he wept silently at first, and then in great gasping sobs as his restraint fell away.  Ori’s arms wrapped convulsively around him and he held Kili tight—dear Kili; he was so dear to him, more precious than anything or anyone else—tears rolling down his cheeks as well.

 

***

 

Ori suspected that Nori purposefully lingered before he returned with dinner for Kili and him.  He was grateful for it; he didn’t think Kili would have allowed himself to let go with any other witnesses there.  And Kili had let everything go at last—sobbing on Ori’s shoulder until he seemed to have exhausted himself.  Even then he didn’t move away, only remained limp and quiet within the circle of Ori’s arms.  It was a sign of what an awful Dwarf Ori was:  their brothers lay unmoving next to them and might never recover, but Ori’s heart was filled with joy simply to hold Kili like this.

 

As far as Ori was concerned, he could hold Kili in his arms forever, but he knew this couldn’t last.  As soon as anyone re-entered the tent Kili would move away and attempt an unnatural stoicism once more.  Ori thought it was not for any dignity due his role as prince; rather, he thought Kili had held everything in at first for fear that he might not be able to control himself and wanting to be ready to support Fili as soon as he woke.  As Fili had not immediately awoken and Kili had worn himself out with too little food and sleep, his tenuous hold on his emotions had frayed.  This had simply been one disappointment too many.  Ori wished desperately that he could do more for Kili; but if this were all he could do, he would do it gladly.

 

They were interrupted at last not by Nori’s or Ireth’s return, but by a long rent opening itself in the side of the tent.  Kili sprung away from Ori’s arms and crouched defensively in front of him and Fili’s still body, his sword at the ready; Ori was slower to react and had no weapon to hand, but he too prepared to defend their brothers even if it were with his bare hands.  But the tear in the tent flapped open and closed without any enemy presenting itself for attack; and then Bilbo suddenly stood in front of them, leaning on a crutch.  He smiled wistfully at them.

 

“I came to—“ was all he was able to say before Kili had embraced him roughly, and Ori was not too far behind.  He seemed overwhelmed but gladdened by their response, though tears flowed down his cheeks.  “Now then, now then,” he said softly, patting Kili on the back gently.  Although Ori had thought Kili could cry no more, he was; and Ori found that he himself was blinking back tears, although he had not Kili’s reasons.  He was grateful, certainly; but he had never been as close to Bilbo as Kili and Fili had become.  “I don’t have long, boys,” Bilbo finally said as he dried his eyes.  “I have to leave, I’m afraid.”  Kili pulled back to direct an almost betrayed look at Bilbo.

 

“Why?” he asked.  He gestured at Bilbo’s heavily splinted leg.  “You can’t travel like that!  And we need you here still!”  Bilbo’s face was endlessly sad as he looked at Kili.

 

“You are very kind to me, but I don’t think there’s really anything more for me to do, what with the state of things,” he replied.  “And...I’ve been gone from home a long time, and...”  Ori took one look at the hurt in Kili’s eyes and couldn’t stand to see that pain.

 

“It’s Thorin, isn’t it?” he asked.  “Thorin’s making you go.”  Bilbo’s face fell, and Kili’s face went from betrayed to furious in an instant.

 

“He can’t!” Kili protested.  “I don’t care how mad he is; he can’t make you leave!”  Bilbo shook his head.

 

“I can’t say I think I deserved to be dangled over the gate like the washing,” he said, “but I don’t blame Thorin for feeling betrayed either.  I...I didn’t know another way, but giving the Arkenstone to the Men and Elves...that was a mistake, I guess.  And now...it’s bringing trouble, my presence here.  Thorin won’t be satisfied until I’m gone.”

 

“This is what Balin and Thorin were fighting about, isn’t it?” Ori asked.  “I saw them earlier.  It was ugly.  I’ve never seen them like that.”

 

“I think so,” Bilbo said.  “At least, Balin came to see me this afternoon, and he said Thorin hadn’t changed his mind about banishing me from Erebor.  And he’s forbidden any of you to come see me in the Elven camp, and he won’t negotiate with Thranduil at all until I’ve left.”  He sighed heavily and blinked away a few more tears.  “I’ll miss you both so much.  And please tell Fili, and Dori too, when they wake:  I’m so glad I came, and that you all have been my friends.  I will miss all of you greatly.”

 

At that moment, Ori became aware that loud voices were approaching the tent’s entrance.

 

“ _Thorin!_   Come eat first, _Thorin_ ,” Bombur was yelling as if he wanted the whole camp to hear.  “ _Come eat before you visit Fili_.  It’s been a long day for all of us, but especially you.  I’ve saved you a bowl of stew, but it’ll go cold if you don’t come now.”  Ori couldn’t hear Thorin’s reply; he suspected it was because Thorin spoke at a more normal level.

 

“Oh, leave him be,” Nori answered Bombur, and his voice was just as loud as Bombur’s.  “Of course _Thorin wants to see his sister-sons_ ; he’s been so busy dealing with everything else!”

 

“That’s why he needs to take care of himself,” Bombur replied indignantly (and even louder, if such a thing were possible), “or let us take care of him, at any rate.  Do you think Thranduil is going to care if he’s fed and well rested?  He’ll take any advantage, that one.”  From the sound of it, they were almost to the tent; and Bilbo seemed to take it as his signal to go.

 

“Goodbye,” he said, and embraced each of them again.  “I will always remember you so fondly.”

 

“You really can’t travel with your leg like that,” Kili insisted.  Bilbo smiled sadly at him.

 

“I’m not going far now, just to Mirkwood, to the Elfking’s Halls,” he said.  “I promise I’ll let my leg heal before I go further.  But Gandalf and Thranduil need to be able to tell Thorin I’ve left for home.”  There was a rustling from the tent’s entrance then, and Bilbo was invisible and through the tear he had cut in the side of the tent in an instant.  Ori wanted to comfort Kili for this additional loss, to hold him in his arms again forever; but he knew Kili would refuse to show such weakness to Thorin.  He had always wanted Thorin to think the best of him, and Ori expected he would pretend to be fearless in front of Thorin now. 

 

Before this, Ori had thought such pretence unnecessary; Thorin’s love for his sister-sons was obvious to everyone in Ered Luin.  But now...  Thorin hadn’t been himself since they entered the mountain; and while it might not be as bad as it had been at the worst, still it seemed that he hadn’t yet recovered.  Ori hoped he would come back to himself soon.  No matter what happened he could only obey Thorin; Thorin was his king.  But Ori wished he had remained the Dwarf they’d followed half across Middle Earth.  That Dwarf he had followed out of love.  This one could only command his duty.

 

Thorin entered the tent with only Nori following him.  Behind Thorin’s back, Nori winked at Kili and Ori.  He’d known then, that Bilbo was saying goodbye to them.  Before the entrance flap fell shut, Ori could see that two of the Dwarves from the Iron Hills were posted there as guards.  No wonder Bilbo had made his own entrance to the tent, out of sight from the guards.  In the midst of this secure camp, they could have no other purpose than to turn him away.

 

Thorin’s eyes went first to Fili, and in his sorrowful and sombre mien Ori could see his truest self again.  But as he turned to Kili, his eyes fell on the slit in the side of the tent; and in his fierce rage he seemed frighteningly irrational once more.  An undercurrent of anger had always underlaid Thorin’s personality; Ori thought the spark of it had been lit by Smaug’s attack and only fed during the harsh years of exile.  But this was more, somehow; this was...  Thorin seemed to be searching for a reason for violence.  His hand was on Orcrist’s hilt, even when the only conscious people in the tent were Kili and Ori.  If Thorin could look so when he looked upon Kili:  Kili, who he loved as if he were his own son...

 

“You are right, Kili; it was a stupid idea,” Ori blurted out.  “I don’t know why I thought a cool breeze would wake Fili and Dori.  I’ll sew the tent right back up.  Just let me go get a needle and thread.”  Thorin’s eyes narrowed, but he allowed Ori to leave without saying anything.  Ori’s eyes met Nori’s on the way out the door; his growing despair was mirrored there in his brother’s gaze.  They needed Thorin—but they needed Thorin Oakenshield, who had led the Dwarves exiled from Erebor with courage and dedication; and instead they had Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór.  With Thorin’s first step inside Erebor, the overarching love of gold that ran in every Dwarf had triggered the madness of the Durin line; and Ori feared they might never find a way to defeat it.

 

When Ori returned to the tent, he quietly took the heavy needle and leather cord he had begged off one of the Elves to close the tent’s tear.  Thorin and Kili sat side by side next to Fili.  At first they didn’t acknowledge his entrance.  Ori could feel eyes on him, though; and they didn’t feel friendly.  But then Kili spoke with joy in his voice, and Thorin turned his glare away from Ori’s back.

 

“See, Thorin; look!  He did it again!” he exclaimed.  Ori couldn’t help turning to look at Kili, and Kili’s smile was blinding in his happiness.  Ori couldn’t see much of Fili from where he sat; but even as he watched, Thorin gasped and reached out to squeeze Kili’s hand and pull him into an embrace.  Kili beamed at Ori over Thorin’s shoulder.

 

“He’s going to wake, Ori!” he cried.  “His hand’s been twitching, and his eyelids too a bit; I think he’s waking up!”  Ori returned his joyous smile.  For Nori and himself of course he wished Dori might show more signs of waking as well, but he couldn’t be anything but happy for Kili.

 

“I’ll go find Ireth,” Nori said, “so she can take another look at him now.”  He hurried out of the tent.  Thorin released Kili, and Ori could see his smiling profile as he turned his eyes back to Fili.  He seemed himself again:  properly himself.  Ori felt a bit of hope.  Perhaps there was a way out of the madness for Thorin after all.  Kili leant his head on Thorin’s shoulder for a moment before turning to speak to Ori.

 

“Maybe there was something to that cool breeze theory of yours after all,” he said.  “Let’s not sew the tent shut yet.”  Ori met his mischievous smile with a smirk of his own.

 

“It’s going to be fine, wait and see,” Ori said.  “Fili is waking and I am sure Dori will wake soon as well.  The whole Company is alive and healing, and Erebor belongs to Dwarves once more.”  Kili nodded in agreement and turned to include Thorin in his smile.

 

“It’s a new day dawning over the Lonely Mountain, Uncle; and for the great kingdom under the mountain, too,” he said.  Thorin pulled Kili into another hug, and Ori dared to get up and stand next to Kili so that he could look for signs of Fili’s recovery too.  After a few minutes, he saw Fili’s eyelids twitch.  Suddenly Ori felt overwhelmed by the enormous changes ahead for them.  He was a Dwarf of Erebor now, the home his family had come from but he had never seen.  Thorin was truly a king, and Fili and Kili truly princes; and they would soon rule over Erebor, the mightiest Dwarven kingdom of Middle Earth.  If he could only stay by Kili’s side like this, so that he might share in the smallest part of his joys...  Ori couldn’t imagine a brighter, more hopeful future.  They had come home at last.

 

***

 

_end, Part One_


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin rules under the Lonely Mountain, Ori settles in to his new life in Erebor, and Kili seems to be keeping more than one secret.

_Part Two_

_one month after the Battle of Five Armies_

 

***

 

The tension around the Company’s dinner table was thick.  Ori was glad tonight was the night of the Company’s private dinner; any other night of the week this argument might still have happened, but it would have been in the larger dining hall for all the Dwarves rather than the smaller Granite Room the Company used for these dinners; and in the public dining hall, every Dwarf in Erebor would have witnessed it (likely a handful of Men and perhaps a stray Elf or two as well).  He winced as Balin stood and slammed his tankard of ale onto the table.

 

“You cannot disappear for _ten days_ without telling anyone, Kili!” Balin insisted angrily.  “No one knew where you were or when you’d return; no one was with you, and there are yet Orcs skulking around the mountain...  You are a prince of Erebor, and you _cannot_ hare off like that!  You have responsibilities!  You have a duty!  And you have friends and family that you have scared out of their wits with worry for you!”  Kili raised his chin defiantly in response.

 

“My _family_ did know where I was,” he said.  “Fili and Thorin both knew I went hunting, and Thorin gave his permission!  I suppose I must have been too busy preparing to let the rest of you know and for that I apologise, but it is as you say:  I am a prince of Erebor.  I don’t need your approval, Balin, only that of my uncle the king.”  Here he nodded respectfully to Thorin; but as happened more and more often, Thorin seemed to be staring at nothing, deep in his own thoughts.  Kili faltered for a moment, but then he continued resolutely.  “I was not gone so long as ten days, either—it was only four.  _And_ you wouldn’t be eating the venison you like so much if I hadn’t gone hunting for it.”

 

Ori pressed his lips together and looked away.  He wouldn’t interfere in this mess for all the world, but Kili was lying; he was sure of it.  Though Ori wasn’t sure what day he had left, as sometimes several days might pass without their meeting, Ori was certain that Kili _had_ been gone far more than the four days he claimed.  Nor was Kili a very practiced liar.  If Ori could tell when Nori lied, Kili could never fool him.  Balin turned to appeal to Thorin, but his face fell when he saw how Thorin stared into space.

 

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly.  “Kili claims that you gave him permission to hunt, by himself, without telling anyone else that he was gone?”  Thorin didn’t answer.

 

“Uncle?” Kili asked.  His rebellious mien was gone, and he seemed only to want the king to acknowledge them.  Thorin’s head jerked, and he turned a hazy, puzzled look to Kili and Balin.

 

“Quite right, Kili,” he said, his tone vague, and then his attention was gone again.  Balin’s shoulders slumped with disappointment, and he slowly sat again.  But Kili also seemed to despair rather than triumph in his victory.  Would he have preferred Thorin contradict him?  Surely...he must have spoken to Thorin before he left; Thorin would have been furious if Kili claimed he’d been given permission when he hadn’t...

 

Ori’s gaze darted around the table to the rest of the Company.  Glóin frowned, as did Dwalin; Dori glowered as well, though these days Dori almost always glowered.  Ori wasn’t sure either Óin or Bifur had been paying attention; he couldn’t tell from their expressions, but Bombur’s face had fallen sadly.  Fili’s face was as carefully blank as Nori’s, and Bofur...  Bofur’s face only seemed determined, and as Ori watched, he gave Kili a small nod.  Ori’s eyes flew back to Kili’s face, but he couldn’t read it anymore.  What was happening to them, that open and honest Kili was lying and hiding who knew what?  All of a sudden, Ori couldn’t stand sitting at that depressing table one more minute.

 

“If you would excuse me, your Majesty?” he mumbled in Thorin’s direction.  Thorin, of course, didn’t acknowledge him; and Ori fled their gathering as if he were surrounded by Orcs instead of the Dwarves he loved and trusted most.

 

Later that night, after Nori and Ori had settled Dori to sleep (Ori thanked Mahal it was one of Dori’s good nights), Ori told Nori he was going out for a walk.  Nori waved him on.

 

“Dwalin wants me, he knows where to find me,” he said as he waggled his eyebrows.  “Take your time.”  Ori feigned childish disgust.

 

“I didn’t need that image in my head, Nori; thanks a lot,” he whined.  But he grinned at Nori before heading out the door.  “Just don’t be on the floor in front of the common room fireplace again; I don’t think my virgin eyes can take another scare like that one!” was his last shot.  He heard Nori’s shouted “Brat!” just before the door closed behind him.

 

They had been in Erebor for only a short while before the Battle of Five Armies, but Ori had had a month since then to learn the ways of the Lonely Mountain.  He had not come close to walking every path; for one thing, there was still a lot of work to do in repairing and readying the mountain, so he didn’t have much time to explore every day; for another, Erebor was huge:  far larger than Belegost, which Ori had thought a reasonably sized city before they left it.  But Ori had come to love Erebor as if he had been born and lived there all his life:  its stateliness, its grandeur...  Erebor was a marvel of Dwarven craft, perfect in every line and every detail, unabashedly awe-inspiring, beautiful without ever crossing into looming intimidation or crass display.

 

He did wander aimlessly for a while; but as they often did, eventually his feet took him to Kili’s door.  He’d like to visit with Kili for a while, to see if he could convince Kili to trust him with the truth of where he had been; but he hesitated before he knocked.  He and Kili had grown closer since that day Kili had broken down and allowed Ori to comfort him, and closer still as they watched their brothers’ recoveries with hope; at least, he thought they had, but...it hadn’t been too long before it became obvious that while Fili and Dori’s visible wounds had healed, neither had returned to what he was before the battle.   In different ways, each of their brothers had needed them, and Dori...

 

Before she returned to the Mirkwood, Ireth had regretfully explained to Nori and Ori that Dori might never be the Dwarf he had been before his injury.  His anger, his moodiness, his lack of control:  all of it might be who Dori was now.  Ori couldn’t say that he wished his brother had died; he could never wish that.  But a part of him wished that Dori had never stepped between Ori and that Orc’s mace, that it had been him instead; and an ever-growing part of him mourned as if his brother were dead.  His brother Dori lived; but he was not the same Dwarf, the Dwarf who had practically raised Ori.  It had been a devastating loss; and he didn’t know what he would have done without Nori, who had shown a calm patience with their brother that Ori hadn’t known he possessed.

 

While Fili’s issues were not the same as Dori’s, he had also needed his brother’s help for almost every moment of his recovery.  Fili’s control over his limbs and his balance were so weak that when he first rose from his sickbed he couldn’t move ten steps without falling.  Erebor, with its soaring walkways and deficit of railings...Erebor’s architecture was designed in such a way as to create death traps in every direction for Fili.  His prognosis, however, was hopeful; and Ireth and Óin had worked together to create a rigorous training program for Fili that Kili hounded him through every day.  Fili was determined to regain his former balance and strength, so Kili hardly had to prod him to work at it; but neither could Fili yet navigate the mountain without a guide by his side to prevent him from falling.

 

So Kili and Ori had not necessarily grown apart, but they had been isolated by their separate duties to their brothers.  Ori missed Kili; he missed Kili very much, and...  He had begun to hope that one day his feelings might be returned.  Certainly in those days of waiting for their brothers to wake Kili had always seemed happy to see him:  to seek to confide in him and to value their growing friendship.  Ori had given himself fits trying to decide if he was imagining it:  was Kili touching him more on his shoulder or hand, or resting his hand a moment on Ori’s nape after ruffling his hair, or sitting closer than before?  Hardest of all was trying to evaluate the look in Kili’s eyes:  could it be the beginnings of love in his soft look, or was he simply sharing his happiness that Fili and Dori slowly woke?

 

And while Ori had Nori to help him, Kili had no one; for Thorin had many responsibilities as he took Erebor’s throne, and so the time he had for his sister-sons grew ever shorter.  Too, like Dori, Thorin had good days and bad days; but he was never entirely the Dwarf who had led them on their quest.  They had reached their destination and won their goal, but in many ways, the cost had been higher than they could have imagined.

 

Finally Ori sighed and started back to the house he shared with his brothers without knocking.  He hadn’t the courage after all to approach Kili without a reason; but Yule had just passed, and while the Dwarves hadn’t really celebrated it—for Thorin had angrily declared it a holiday of Men and Hobbits that Dwarves should ignore—Ori had drawn something for Kili.  He had not dared give it to him before, but now perhaps he could without drawing Thorin’s ire.  He would bring it to Kili tomorrow.

 

As he returned to his family’s adopted home, he passed by the open doors to the throne room.  Curious, he nodded in greeting to the Dwarves stationed there and stepped closer to peer inside.  The throne room was never left unguarded, not since the Arkenstone had been returned to its place above the throne, and it was always closed to visitors after Thorin’s afternoon of open court was over.  But once Ori could see inside the throne room, he realised that the intruder was not some lowly Dwarf, hoping to steal a glimpse of the seat of Thorin’s power and the symbol of his right to rule, but Thorin himself.  Immediately Ori felt stupid.  Of course it could only be Thorin.  Who else could have convinced these guards, chosen for their unflinching loyalty to the king under the mountain, to allow him egress into the most carefully secured place in Erebor?

 

Thorin did not sit on his throne; rather, he stood on the steps leading up to it, his face bathed in the light of the Arkenstone as he gazed at it in veneration.  Ori bit his lip.  To espy Thorin like this:  the look on his face, his entire demeanour...  It was so uncomfortable to see; Ori felt as flustered as he might have had he discovered Thorin moaning with his hand on his cock.  It seemed that private and personal, and the look on Thorin’s face—Ori squirmed to think it—as masturbatory as that as well.  He wondered how often Thorin did this, and then he shook his head.  He did not want to know.  He _really_ didn’t want to know.  Ori smiled weakly at the stern-faced guards and crept away as quietly as he could.

 

When the next morning Thorin seemed as unreasonably vengeful and miserly as he had ever been while instructing Balin (before Balin and Ori went to meet with the Men in their continuing efforts to come to a treaty agreement all found amenable), Ori shuddered inside and kept his eyes on the ground.  Thorin had changed his mind; treaty provisions and gifts that he had already approved were now too generous.  The Men sought only to take and take from the Dwarves, and Thorin wouldn’t stand for it any longer.  Ori wondered if there were more to Thorin’s intermittent irrationality than the madness he had inherited from his forbearers, but ultimately set such thoughts aside.  What would it matter if there were?  Nothing could be done about it.  They could only pray that Thorin could be kept in check until Fili took the throne, and that Fili was not susceptible to the madness.

 

Ori sighed.  He did not think he had been so fatalistic before coming to Erebor.  He missed having a more hopeful view of the world.

 

Though he had hoped to take Kili the gift he had made him that very next evening, a week passed before Ori found himself once again in front of Kili’s door.  First Dori had had a bad spell, and it had taken the combined efforts of Nori and Ori to stop him from destroying everything in their borrowed home in his fury.  Ori dreaded the day that Dori made it out in such a mood; he was sure someone would be hurt, and he feared what might happen to Dori then.  It was impossible to hide the changes in Dori from the others in the Company, who knew him so well, but Ori and Nori had done their best to ensure that no one outside their small family—and perhaps Dwalin—understood just how bad it was.  Ori knew that Dori never really meant to hurt them, but neither Ori nor Nori had escaped serious bruising that night.  Although their brother had lost his restraint on his temper after his injury, he had lost none of his strength.  Later, after Dori had finally fallen asleep, Ori and Nori had sat together on the sofa, staring at the fire silently.  Ori didn’t know what Nori was thinking, but he himself trembled with worn exhaustion and a growing despair.  He couldn’t have spoken a word without falling apart.

 

The next day Dori slept all through the morning, and when he woke in the afternoon, he was nearly his old genial self; but that didn’t mean that Ori was free to visit Kili, for he had a great deal of work waiting for him.  The ongoing negotiations with the Men, in which Balin served as Thorin’s representative, were complicated not only because of Thorin’s different moods; but also because of the power struggles between Bard, who wished to rebuild Dale, and Lake-town’s Master, who insisted any recompense for the Men’s losses went to him.  Ori was supposed to attend every meeting in order to record the progress towards a treaty; and while Balin was sympathetic to Ori’s family situation, nevertheless he needed Ori’s assistance badly.  Ori had worked late into the evening so that he could catch up on the previous day’s negotiations, too late to be able to visit Kili when he was done, even if he could have propped his tired eyes open.  He dragged himself home, fell into his bed, and was asleep before he remembered to remove his shoes.  Before he knew it, an entire week had gone by.

 

But now Ori finally stood before Kili’s door, portrait in hand.  After a deep breath to steady his nerves, he knocked firmly and waited for Kili to answer.  There was a long pause in which no one came to the door; and Ori wondered if perhaps Kili had fallen asleep already, but...it was not _so_ late.  Dinner had only ended an hour ago.  Perhaps he was not in his rooms but somewhere out in the mountain helping Fili?  He knocked once more.  If there were no answer this time, he would just have to try again the next day.  But after a moment Kili did answer the door.

 

He seemed to be expecting Thorin, for as he opened the door he was already saying, “Uncle...” in a put-upon tone.  His mouth snapped shut when he saw Ori.  “Ori, this is a nice surprise!” he said.  “I was expecting Thorin.”  He shrugged and grinned self-consciously.  “I know; it’s obvious I was.”  Ori smiled at him and shyly waved his portfolio.

 

“I came to...” he began to say before trailing off as he really looked at Kili, and beyond him, into his room.

 

Kili was shirtless; and when Ori dragged his eyes away from his muscular chest, he saw that his hair was loose and in even more disarray than usual; and... he was not alone.  Behind him, Bofur was sprawled wantonly on Kili’s bed, boots and hat discarded on the floor, the laces of his shirt loosened, and—Ori closed his eyes and wished he could unsee it:  the top two buttons of Bofur’s trousers were unbuttoned.  All his hope that there might be more between Kili and him than friendship crumbled inside him, but he drew himself up and spoke with as much dignity as he could.  He might not have much, but he did have _some_ pride.

 

“You don’t seem to have been expecting _anyone’s_ interruption to your...your private time,” he said as calmly as he could, though he was afraid that wasn’t very calm at all:  his voice trembled and he knew his eyes must shine with gathering tears.  “I apologise for intruding upon you; I didn’t—I won’t disturb you further.”  Kili paled, with embarrassment, Ori supposed; and he turned wildly to meet Bofur’s worried gaze before turning back to reply to Ori.

 

“No, Ori—“ he protested.  “Don’t...  Ori, _wait_!”  But Ori was already spinning on his heel, almost running in his haste.  He mumbled something that he hoped would pass for good night as he fled and ignored Kili as he called his name.  When he reached the house he shared with his brothers, he entered as quietly as he could.  Dori would be sleeping, but he didn’t want to have to face Nori’s sharp eyes, or Dwalin either, if he were there.  He didn’t hear any voices, so he crept forward to peek into their common room.  It was empty, and Ori sighed unhappily before crossing the room to curl up on the couch and let his tears fall at last.  He had been a fool to think that Kili would ever see him as more than a friend, a fool to think that a quiet, shy scribe could win the love of a warrior prince beloved by all.  He closed his eyes tightly and silently swore that he would never let Kili see how he had hurt him.  Kili had not meant to break Ori’s heart, and Ori would never allow him to feel guilty about it.  Kili had never given Ori any encouragement; Ori had imagined it, every bit of it.  He fell asleep with that mantra running through his mind:  _he’d never let Kili see his hurt.  It had all been in his imagination._

 

He woke to Nori and Dori’s quiet voices in the kitchen.  Someone had covered him with a blanket at some point in the night, and for a time he lay awake listening to them.  His love might not be returned and his oldest brother might never be the Dwarf he had been before, but Ori had a lot to be thankful for.  He would try to remember it.  After a short while, he fell asleep again.  When he awoke for the second time, both Nori and Dori were sitting in the common room with him.  Dori was knitting—it must be a very good day—and Nori was sharpening a knife.  It felt just like being back at their home in Ered Luin.

 

“What’ve you got there?” Dori asked him, pointing his knitting needle at Ori’s parchment case.  Ori opened his portfolio and took out the portrait of Kili and Fili, laughing with their heads close together as they sat by a campfire.  Silently he passed it to Dori, who put down his knitting to take it.

 

“It’s beautiful,” he said after a moment.  “Skill and love in every line.”  Nori sheathed his knife and held out his hand, and Dori passed the drawing over.  He nodded in agreement.

 

“This might be one of your best yet, I think,” he said.  “Did Kili like it?  I assume that’s where you went yesterday after dinner.  Going to frame it for him?  Maybe it’s not properly Dwarf-like, but I think a wood frame might look nice, given the setting.”  Without a word Ori held out his hand for the drawing and Nori gave it back to him.  Ori looked at it a long while.  It _was_ one of his best drawings to date:  he thought he’d captured Kili’s sweet mischief perfectly, and Fili’s doting humour as well; and he was proud of the way the campfire almost seemed to flicker on the parchment.  He stood up and went to stand in front of the fire laid in their hearth.  His gaze moved from the fire on the page to the live fire burning before him.  He really was proud of it, he thought; he’d done good work with the campfire. Gently he laid the portrait in the fire and watched it begin to curl up and char around the edges.

 

“Ori!” Dori exclaimed, and Nori:  “What are you doing?” as Fili and Kili’s faces began to scorch.

 

“I’m not going to frame it for him; I’m not going to give it to him at all, not this one and not any of the others,” he said without looking away from the fire.

 

“What happened?” Nori asked in the patient voice Ori had never heard before Dori’s—before the Battle of Five Armies.

 

“Nothing happened,” Ori replied.  “Bofur was with him.”

 

“I understand wanting privacy when you give it to him, but this is just melodramatic,” Dori said impatiently, slamming his knitting down beside him.  “Save it and go back another day, idiot.”   _Seems like the good spell may be coming to an end for today_ , Ori thought.  He turned to face his brothers.

 

“No, I...”  He couldn’t meet their eyes when he said it; he didn’t want anyone’s pity, even theirs.  “Bofur was _with_ him,” he explained.  “He was—and Kili—it was obvious what they had been doing before I got there.”  He scowled tearily at the rug.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“I could cut him for you,” Nori offered silkily.  “Either of ‘em.  Both of ‘em.  Lots of old mines around here; no one’d find the bodies for years, if ever.”  He paused.  “Decades, probably.  Deeper than that and I might get lost in the depths of the mountain, but decades—I could give you decades.”  Ori wasn’t sure if the sound he made in response was laughter or a sob.

 

“That’s okay,” he said.  “I appreciate the offer, though.”  They stood in silent tableau a moment longer, and then Dori exploded.

 

“I’ll _kill_ him,” he roared.  “Lead him on and break my Ori’s heart, will he?  I’ll show him what happens when you cross a ‘Ri.  I’ll rip him open with my knitting needles and brew tea with his guts.”  Ori’s eyes widened and met Nori’s.  They leapt into action, leaping for Dori and holding him in place so Dori couldn’t burst out of their house, hunt down Kili and tear him apart.  Before, he might have _said_ such a thing, but now?  Now he’d do it.  Ori clung to one arm and Nori the other while Dori flailed as he cursed Kili roundly and tried to escape.  “I knew that Dwarf was trouble, that shifty-eyed, seducing cad,” he yelled, but gradually he settled down as Nori and Ori murmured softly to him until finally he had calmed enough to sit down again, though he still glowered at them.

 

“He didn’t try to break my heart on purpose; if anything, I broke my own heart,” Ori said.  “He didn’t—he never—“  He sighed.  “I imagined it.  It was all in my head.”

 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it _was_ all in your head; I thought he liked you too,” Nori said, pulling Ori into a hug.  “And I wouldn’t have ever thought Bofur; I haven’t seen him glance once at Bofur.”

 

“You’re not the only one who knows how to be sly, you know,” Dori informed Nori forbiddingly as he picked up his knitting again.  “I could wrap him in a blanket, smuggle him to Lake-town and sell him to the Master quick as a wink.  I bet he has all sorts of unsavoury contacts.  Kili would be a body slave on his way to Harad before the sun set.”

 

Nori snorted.  “Not like that’d be too hard.  Unless you threw in the blasted Arkenstone as a bonus, mad King Thorin wouldn’t notice his own sister-son was gone until Balin forced him to pull his head out of his—“ he said before Dori interrupted.  Ori was too aghast to speak.  He knew that his mouth hung open, but he was too shocked to utter a sound.

 

“Nori!” Dori exclaimed.  “Show some respect; that’s our king you’re speaking of!”  But Nori only scowled stubbornly.

 

“I know it,” he said, “but the state Thorin’s in right now, I think half the time I might be able to say it to his face without consequence.  He doesn’t notice most of what Dwarves say or do these days, not unless it’s to do with gold or that bit of sparkling evil.”

 

Ori had no idea how to answer that.  He hadn’t known how strongly disappointed in Thorin Nori was; he had had no idea that Nori thought of the Arkenstone that way, though Ori himself had worried ever since that night he saw Thorin in the throne room...  Finally Ori could only take a deep breath and square his shoulders.  There was no clarifying answer for any of them, no miraculous solution to their difficulties; there was only living with the situation and continuing to do as they must.

 

“I have to meet Balin in the Little Topaz Room,” he told his brothers.  “Thank you; thank you both.  I...It may take me a while to get over it entirely, but I feel better already.  I’m just going to pretend I’m fine until it’s true.”

 

“That’s a surprisingly good way to handle a lot of problems,” Nori said with a wry smile.  “I do it all the time.”  With one last squeeze to Ori’s shoulders, he let him go.

 

“You need a new scarf,” Dori said, apropos of nothing.  “Topaz would be a good colour with your eyes.”  Ori smiled sadly at his brothers and left.

 

Balin kept him busy enough that he didn’t have time to think about Kili and Bofur for the rest of the day.  It was only as Balin and he packed away their papers that Ori remembered:  it was Company dinner night.  He hadn’t been worried about how to stay away from Bofur; he hardly saw Bofur these days unless it was at the Company dinner.  Kili he saw more often, and Kili had often spared a moment to talk to him, just the two of them.  Before, he had _thought_ that Kili seemed to seek out those times together; but clearly he had been very, very wrong.  Nevertheless, he had hoped to avoid Kili for a while, just until the hurt wasn’t so fresh and he could hide it better.  Instead he’d be forced to see them both not even twenty-four hours after his hopes had been dashed to pieces.  _Ridiculous hopes_ , he reminded himself.  _You read far too much into Kili’s kind nature._

 

As Balin and he walked to the Granite Room, Ori replied as best he was able to Balin’s conversation; but he thought he made a rather shoddy job of it.  The look Balin directed at him as they sat down at table was concerned.  Ori tried to ignore it so as not to provide the opening Balin needed to ask what was wrong.  He waved weakly at Nori and Dori as they entered the room.  When Kili and Fili came in right behind them, he accidentally met Kili’s eyes for just a moment before quickly looking away.  When he cautiously glanced back, he recognized the determined set to Kili’s face as he watched Ori.  Kili was going to try to talk to him right here in front of the whole Company, and Ori was going to humiliate himself by bursting into tears.  He was desperately aware of the empty chair on his right hand side.  _Someone, anyone:  please sit there before Kili does_ , he prayed.

 

He tried to stare a hole into Nori’s head so that Nori would look up and see his dilemma and _hurry up and come sit next to Ori_ ; but Nori didn’t look until after Dori was settled, and then it was too late.  It was maybe even worse than Kili, Ori thought; Bofur had taken the seat next to him.  Bofur smiled hesitantly at him, and Ori bit his lip and resolutely looked away.  He wouldn’t make it five minutes without crying in front of everyone at this rate.  But Nori was able to come to his rescue after all.  He whispered into Dwalin’s ear as Dwalin was pulling back the chair next to Nori, and Dwalin nodded and walked around the table to stand behind Ori instead.

 

“Move, little scribe,” he said curtly, but he ruffled Ori’s hair to soften the tone of his words.  “I need to speak with my brother.”  Ori stood hastily and tried to show his gratitude with his eyes.  Dwalin patted him awkwardly on the back.  “Go on now.”  Ori hurried around the table to the spot Nori had saved between him and Dori.  He carefully didn’t look at Kili or Bofur for the remainder of the meal, but he saw them both sending him concerned looks out of the corner of his eye anyway.  Ori ate as quickly as he could; and as soon as was polite after dinner, he excused himself.  He saw Kili half-rising out of his chair at the other end of the table; but once he closed the door to the Granite Room behind himself, Ori broke into a run; and Kili might be fast, but Ori had a head start.  He’d never catch him.

 

He was breathless when he reached their house and leant against the door he slammed shut behind him as he panted for air.  After a couple of minutes his breath slowed, and he shook his head at his ridiculous behaviour.  He should have gritted his teeth and heard what Bofur and Kili had to say to him and pretended that nothing was wrong.  It was just too soon after his disappointment, though; and despite Nori’s skilled example Ori was almost as bad a liar as Kili.  He knew he wouldn’t have fooled them; and if he could have nothing else, he’d like to keep at least a facade of dignity—in front of Kili especially.  But now he had another week before the next Company dinner, and he thought he could probably avoid them both until then if he were careful, and perhaps he could pretend to be sick if he wasn’t ready yet when the time came.  He would have two weeks, then, to steel himself.  He could do it.

 

With a sigh, Ori pushed himself away from the door and climbed the stairs to the house’s topmost room, a tiny nook of a landing that he had claimed as his own.  It had clearly been a child’s hideaway before Smaug came; when Ori had first discovered it while exploring their dwelling, the floor had been scattered with various toys and other children’s treasures:  marbles, feathers, beads; even a small semi-precious stone or two.  The external wall had a filigreed window carved out of the rock so that light flickered in from the torches that lit the halls, as had many of the other nearby homes.  Though he was very young when their family had fled Erebor, Dori had told them that he remembered the Dwarves who lived there placing a light behind the windows on special days (Durin’s Day, or to celebrate a marriage or birth in the family) so that the patterns shone for all to see.  Ori and Nori had talked about one day lighting all the windows along the hall to surprise Dori, and so they could see what it looked like, but they hadn’t done it yet.

 

Ori cautiously peered out the window, but the hall below was empty.  It seemed Kili hadn’t bothered to chase him all the way home.  He sat down and hid his face in his hands.  He’d never really hoped before, when they lived in Belegost; his crush on Kili had seemed a harmless fancy then.  Everyone knew that Kili was Thorin’s nephew, and so technically he was a prince; but Erebor was far away and Kili never acted as if he believed he were in some way elevated above any of the Dwarves they had grown up with.  If anything, Kili had always seemed as if he enjoyed the lack of distinction from other classes of Dwarves that Thorin, and to a lesser extent, Fili, created with their reserve. 

 

It wasn’t that Thorin and Fili had been unkind to those they led, but Kili...Kili had been _friendly_.  He had been boisterous and teasing and effortlessly happy to meet anyone—everyone!  As they grew up together Ori had first admired Kili’s growing skill as a warrior, when Ori himself had felt so awkward and weak with his puny slingshot; and then he had fallen in love with Kili’s bright and easy smile; and when once Kili had directed that smile at him and complimented one of his drawings...Ori had never dreamt he would be anything special to Kili, but in that moment Kili had become every hope—every joy—he had ever he wanted.  The extended time in Kili’s company during their journey to Erebor had only strengthened his feelings.

 

But he should never have believed that Kili could feel the same way about him.  Kili had never been a snob; truly, that he was involved with Bofur now proved that his disregard for Dwarven hierarchies was real.  Who was Bofur, after all?  A miner and toymaker, who had joined their Quest for free ale?  His position wasn’t any better than that of a journeyman scribe; it was probably worse in the eyes of most.  So it wasn’t rank that motivated Kili, it was love; and how could Ori fight that?  He wanted Kili to be happy, even if the consequence was his own sorrow.  Tears rolled down his cheeks until he heard the sounds of Nori and Dori returning home, at which point he wiped them away so that if his brothers sought him out, they wouldn’t see him crying.  There wasn’t any way to hide his red and swollen eyes; but if he wasn’t crying, they could all pretend.  But neither of his brothers came looking for him, and Ori finally pulled his blanket over his head and fell asleep.  There was nothing to do but carry on, and he would need to be rested to hold up his head tomorrow.

 

The next morning, Ori woke early.  He left a brief note for Nori and Dori to tell them that he had left already and hurried to the dining hall.  It was too early for breakfast, but he was able to beg a bowl of gruel from Bombur, who was one of the cooks that day.  He wolfed it down and went to the Little Topaz Room to wait for Balin and the Men.  He whiled away the hour with his charcoals, deliberately choosing to draw his family rather than...rather than anyone else.  He greeted the Men politely as they entered; but after that brief hello the Men conferred amongst themselves while they all waited for Balin, so Ori quietly continued to doodle.  He lost track of time as he did and as a result was quite startled when one of Bard’s ambassadors approached him.  He blushed as he stammered out an apology, but the Man waved it off.

 

“Do you know what has delayed Balin?” he asked.  “Unlike some, he is too respectful to keep us waiting to prove his own importance.”  The Man sourly eyed the Master’s delegation, which had in the early days been very prone to such tactics and would likely have continued them had Balin not quickly outmanoeuvred them, granting concessions and gifts of gold to Bard before their arrival whenever they chose to appear late to these meetings.  It had only taken two such occurrences for the Master’s Men to understand their error.  They had been scrupulously prompt ever since.

 

Ori shook his head.  “I apologise; I did not realise the time.  I have heard of nothing, but I have not yet seen Balin this morning.  If you like, I shall go look for him.”  The Man nodded in reply.

 

“I would be grateful,” he said.  “If we are forced to sit here listening to the snide comments of the Master’s sycophants without Balin’s buffer much longer, someone’s going to lose his temper.”  He smiled wryly.  “Probably me.”

 

“Of course,” Ori said.  “I will return as soon as I can.”  He hurried out the door, wondering what could possibly have kept Balin from his duties and even from sending word of any delay. 

 

Whatever it was that had delayed Balin, it seemed to have set the mountain in an uproar.  Groups of Dwarf warriors sprinted through the halls; and when Ori reached the throne room, the guards at the doors turned him away but would not tell him why.  After a moment of thought, Ori went instead for the room in which Thorin most often held council.  Balin was indeed there, as were the rest of the Company and some few of the Dwarves of the Iron Hills; but he was conversing seriously with Fili, Glóin and a furious Thorin.  Ori couldn’t possibly interrupt such a conclave.  He glanced around and saw Nori across the room, but he was clearly busy keeping Dori under control.  Ori would have liked to be able to go help, but he couldn’t neglect his other responsibilities to do so.  It would have to wait.  As he looked for another Dwarf he might ask, he saw that Dwalin was standing near Thorin and Balin but not involved in their conversation.  Ori hurried over to him.

 

“What is going on?” he asked.  “The Men have begun to grow irritable waiting for Balin, and something serious has clearly happened.  I haven’t seen such chaos since we learned the Orcs and Wargs were on the way to attack the Mountain.”  Dwalin was pale as he gripped Ori’s arm and pulled him aside, away from where Balin tried to calm an ever more enraged Thorin.

 

“The Arkenstone is gone,” he whispered tersely, “disappeared from the throne room sometime between the end of court yesterday and early this morning.”

 

“ _What?_ ” Ori cried and blushed as most of the eyes in the room turned to him.  He lowered his voice.  “You cannot be serious.  It isn’t possible!”

 

“Whether it’s possible or not, it’s gone,” Dwalin said.  None of the guards left their posts; none of them allowed anyone entry or saw anything, but it’s gone.  Thorin is beyond frantic.”

 

“What do I tell the Men?” Ori asked.  “Do I tell them what has really happened?”

 

“Better not,” Dwalin replied.  “But Balin will certainly not be there today, and I don’t think he’ll be able to get back to them until the Arkenstone is recovered.  Tell them Thorin’s fallen ill, maybe?  No, not Thorin—better make it Fili:  important enough for Balin’s attention without appearing to leave the mountain without the king’s guidance.  But don’t give them any reason to depart.  Thorin won’t allow it before the Arkenstone is found; and I think it’s best we avoid arresting the Men’s delegation, don’t you?”  Ori paled at the thought.  “Get back here quick as you can after you’re done with them; we’re going to need every Dwarf Thorin trusts,” Dwalin added, squeezing Ori’s shoulder reassuringly before turning his attention back to the small group attempting to calm the frenzied Dwarf king.

 

Ori turned to make his way through the clusters of tensely whispering Dwarves and back to the Little Topaz Room in a daze.  Immediately upon the Company’s return to Erebor after the Battle of Five Armies, Thorin had ceremoniously returned the Arkenstone to its place of honour, mounted above the king’s throne.  It had been fiercely guarded night and day since then.  None were allowed in the throne room when the king was not present— _no one_ , not even the most trusted members of the Company; and as far as Ori knew the king carried the only known key to the doors on his person.

 

And where could anyone go after he had somehow achieved the impossible and held the Arkenstone in his grasp?  Smaug had destroyed the secret door into the mountain, and the Gate—the only other entrance—was closed each night and as closely guarded during the day as the throne room.  Nor were there many comings and goings; any person who tried to depart couldn’t avoid notice or pursuit, and Thorin’s first action would have been to forbid any egress.  Wherever it had gone, the Arkenstone was still in the mountain.  Momentarily Ori pitied whoever had taken it.  Thorin would be merciless in his punishment, especially after Bilbo’s theft of it before the battle.  He was clearly out of his head that it had been lost again.

 

Ori dealt with the Men as quickly and tactfully as he could before returning to Thorin’s council room.  The Master’s ambassador had almost rubbed his hands with glee as he pretended great concern over Fili’s illness.  The Man was disgusting, almost as bad as his smarmy Master.  Bard’s representative seemed more honestly concerned, and Ori felt a bit guilty about lying to him about the reason for Balin’s absence.  He sighed in relief as he watched them escorted back to their quarters and hoped they didn’t realise that their honour guards had just become their gaolers.

 

When Ori slipped back into the emergency council, Thorin was pacing back and forth as he sent Dwarves racing to do his bidding:  securing the Lonely Mountain against escape and beginning the search for the Arkenstone.  Balin’s efforts to calm him didn’t seem to be working at all; and Ori didn’t want to accidentally draw Thorin’s attention, so he found a bench pushed against the far wall to sit on.  Hours passed, and the guard had reported that the mountain was secure, but no trace of the Arkenstone had been found.  Thorin was beginning to rave about the perfidy of Elves and Men, and it was all Balin and Fili could do to convince him they couldn’t arrest every Elf and Man in Erebor.  Ori hid his head in his hands and tried to push down the sick feeling in his stomach.  Thorin was at his most irrational and violent when it came to the Arkenstone.  Sooner or later, if it were not found, there would be bloodshed over this.  _Heart of the Mountain, Mahal’s left stone,_ he thought.  _That awful rock is cursed, and Erebor is cursed, and we are all cursed._ It was not the first time he had thought that lately.

 

“It’s going to be fine,” Kili’s voice said softly.  “I know it is.”  Ori lifted his head to find that Kili had sat down next to him.  He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t even noticed.  He smiled wistfully at Ori.  “I’ve missed you,” he added.  “I never seem to have a chance to talk to you anymore.  And I want to—”  But Ori ignored that bit.

 

“How can you say it’s going to be fine?” he whispered furiously.  “You know how—“  He paused to check, but no one was paying the least attention to the two of them.  Nevertheless he lowered his voice even further.  “You know how Thorin is about...about this.  If we don’t find it soon, there’ll be bodies hanging off the battlements.”  Even as he argued with him, Ori could not help but drink in the close warmth of Kili’s body next to his.  Kili seemed tired; he had heavy bags beneath his eyes.  But he also seemed to be confident in what he said:  it would all be fine.  Ori had not known Kili was _that_ naive.  He shook his head.  “I can’t believe that,” he said quietly.  “I wish I could, but I just can’t.”

 

“You’ll see,” Kili promised him earnestly.  “I know it’s a bit scary now; but it’s not Goblins behind and Orcs ahead, is it?”  He bumped Ori’s shoulder with his.  “And even if it were, I’m here to protect you.”  Despite himself, the corner of Ori’s lip curled up.  It was impossible to be gloomy with Kili near.  But then Thorin spoke, and the room fell silent.

 

“Hold,” Thorin said in a deadly voice.  “Where is Bofur?”  Dwarves looked around as if they expected the toymaker to suddenly appear beside them, Ori amongst them.  When he had been here before, he had thought the entire Company present; but he hadn’t stayed in council more than a few minutes before he had set off with his message for the Men; and now that he thought about it, he didn’t think he’d noticed Bofur’s presence.  He turned his gaze to Kili next to him.  Whatever Kili had said about it all being fine, he looked a little worried now.  Thorin loomed threateningly over a shaking and pale Bombur.  “Where is your brother, cook?  My grandfather’s most prized possession is missing, and he thinks he needn’t bother to help find it?”

 

Bombur shook his head.  “I don’t—I’m sure he’d be here,” he told Thorin in a wavering voice.  “He is loyal to your Majesty.  You can’t think—I don’t know but—He would be here...”  Thorin wordlessly snarled his vexation and backhanded Bombur across the face.  The already silent room grew even tenser.  No one dared contradict the king or try to stop him, not when he was like this, not even a trusted member of the Company.  Bombur stood with his head lowered, his cheek a vicious red, every line in his body screaming that he wanted to retreat from this vicious predator but knew if he did it would only prompt the attack.

 

“Where was he last night?” Thorin growled.  “After the Company dispersed, during the hours when the Arkenstone was stolen, where did the toymaker go?”  Bombur shook with fear—for himself and for his brother, Ori thought.  He didn’t answer.  “He has always been one of the thief’s staunchest defenders.  And now it seems he has stepped into the traitor’s place.”  He turned to Dwalin.  “Find him, and bring him back in chains if he won’t come willingly.”  Beside Ori, Kili shot to his feet.

 

“He couldn’t have it, Uncle,” he said.  “He...”  He glanced down at Ori, his dark eyes apologetic.  “He couldn’t have done it.  Bofur and I, we—we’re lovers.  He—he was in my rooms with me last night, and he didn’t leave until early this morning.”  Ori turned his face away and failed miserably in hiding his distress.  Thorin’s glare was directed now at Kili, and then he slowly stalked across the room towards his sister-son.  Ori could feel Kili trembling next to him, but he faced Thorin bravely enough.  Thorin seethed as he confronted him.

 

“In your room with you, was he?  All night, from after dinner until dawn, as you sated yourself with your secret lover?” Thorin’s lip twisted and his gaze slid from Kili to Ori and then back again.  “This is a rather sudden and surprising affair with the toymaker.”  His deep voice grew black with rage.  “Forget any misguided attempt to protect him, Kili.  Perhaps it is well-meant, and loyalty to a friend does you credit, but being my nephew and heir will not save you from deserved punishment in this.”  For some reason Thorin’s gaze fell on Ori again.  “ _Bofur_ , your lover!  Not one Dwarf who knows you could believe this story.”  Still trembling, Kili stood silent, gazing steadily at Thorin.  No one in the room dared breathe.  Behind Thorin’s back, Ori could see the members of the Company looking to each other in fear and dread.  Fili was the only one who dared speak; Ori thought that all of them must know that the consequences for trying to defend Kili would be oppressively severe.  Thorin was in no mood to be soothed back to rationality.

 

“Why would Kili deceive you?” Fili asked desperately.  “His loyalty is to you, Uncle; he never would.”

 

“And your loyalty, Fili—is it to your king, or has it fallen to your brother instead?” Thorin shouted in furious response.  He seemed to be barely restraining himself from striking someone again.  Ori thought anyone might do, even if it were one of his sister-sons and heirs.  He cringed inside, but he couldn’t help but try.  Thorin in this state might not be able to hear the truth; but Ori couldn’t stand by while Kili faced Thorin’s anger alone, not when he could confirm Kili’s words.  He bit his lip and slowly stood next to Kili to address Thorin.

 

“I would believe it, your Majesty,” he said unhappily.  “I would believe that they are lovers, and that Kili and Bofur were together last night.”  Thorin turned his threatening gaze on Ori, but Ori met his eyes as steadily as he could.

 

“You are not unbiased either, scribe,” Thorin told him, silky threat in his voice.  Ori swallowed hard and nodded.

 

“I know I am not, your Majesty,” he said, keeping his eyes respectfully lowered.  “But I—I saw them.  Not last night, but two nights ago...”  Ori struggled to continue to speak as his throat closed with tears.  “I went to Kili’s room about an hour after dinner, and they were there together.”  There was a long pause before Thorin shook his head in denial of Ori’s claim; but his voice was also calmer when he replied, edged away from the razor blade of violence they had stood on moments before.

 

“I do not say they are not friends, but I can _not_ believe he stayed the entire night as a lover would; and his absence now is telling, is it not?  And you of all Dwarves should know that Kili’s interest lies with another.  I find the likelihood that Bofur has been colluding with the Halfling thief all along far more credible.”  Ori wasn’t sure what Thorin meant by that, but he could hardly ask.  Perhaps because Thorin knew how much of Ori’s attention rested on Kili?  It seemed he hadn’t hid his interest very well at all.  Kili seemed to have known about it too, else why look to Ori in apology before telling Thorin of his affair with Bofur?  _Oh_.  Ori winced as he finally understood.  _They all knew._   If even Thorin, under the haze of his illness as he was, knew of Ori’s feelings for Kili, every Dwarf in the mountain must know and pity his foolishness.  And now they all knew just how hopeless his dreams had been.  Ori flushed with miserable embarrassment as he stood quietly before the king and did not reply, and Thorin turned to glare at the rest of the room as well.  “I will not tolerate lies in this, not even in the defence of others.”  Ori blinked back his tears.  This accusation, at least, he could answer.

 

“I can’t say I might not lie to protect Kili, your Majesty, and I’m sorry for it; I know it’s wrong of me,” he said, and he lifted his eyes to allow Thorin to see all the pain he had been trying to hide.  If this were what it took to convince Thorin that Kili wasn’t lying to him, Ori would expose his pitiful misery.  If the whole mountain already knew about Ori’s hopeless crush, the rest of it hardly mattered.  It was only one more indignity.  “But I’m not lying.  Bofur was there, and—“  Ori’s voice broke and tears rolled down his cheeks as he forced himself to continue.  If he must humiliate himself like this, he would at least be believed.  “He and Kili...” 

 

“Ori...” Kili whispered desolately to him, and Ori felt a light touch on his shoulder.  He wiped his tears away angrily and refused to look at Kili, keeping his gaze as steady as he could on Thorin instead.

 

“He and Kili were—they were not clothed,” he continued, wincing as his voice broke.  “Kili—Kili wasn’t wearing a shirt and his hair was tousled, down and unbraided; and Bofur’s shirt and his—his trousers were open; and he was—he was on Kili’s bed...”  He couldn’t swallow back a gasping sob.

 

“I see,” Thorin said quietly, and his voice was compassionate now, a trace of the Dwarf he had been before; and then though his voice in the next instant grew quite stern as he turned to Kili, it did not hold the unstable fury of before, but rather remained reminiscent of the old Thorin.  “I would not have thought it of you, Kili.”

 

“No,” Kili murmured quietly.  “I—I’m sorry.”  Ori felt the light touch on his shoulder again, and he stepped away from it without looking at Kili.  Nevertheless he still knew when Kili took a deep breath before speaking again.  “He said before he left this morning that he wanted to take a look at some of the old mines today, to see which of them would be best to open up again.  My guess is he’s too far down and has missed all the commotion.  I’m sure he’ll turn up later on.”  Quiet fell over the room of Dwarves again.  _Spellbound by the melodrama_ , Ori thought bitterly.  He didn’t think he’d be able to face Erebor’s Dwarves without discomfiture for months.

 

“And how is it now with you, nephew?” Thorin asked Kili then.  Ori realised he was angry again, though not about the Arkenstone, it seemed.  He risked a glance up.  “Has your lust been slaked?  And was it worth the consequences?  Worth squandering what you have lost?”  Beside him, Kili clenched his fists and glared hotly at his uncle.

 

“I don’t know, Uncle,” he spit out.  “Was it worth it when you sent Bilbo away?  When you are cold in the night, do you ever miss what you once had?”  The entire room seemed to gasp.  Ori stared at Kili in disbelief and knew he could not be the only one who did.  Was he _trying_ to goad Thorin into violence again?  Thorin stalked two menacing steps towards Kili and fisted his jerkin, jerking it so that Kili stumbled forward and nearly fell.

 

“If you were not my sister’s son,” he stated dangerously, “you would pay for your insolence in blood and pain.  But I have more important concerns now.  Still:  you will hold your witless tongue or you will regret it sorely.”  After a moment more of glaring at each other, Thorin sneered and turned away to return to the brothers Fundin, and next to Ori Kili sagged a bit in relief.  Around the room, whispered conversations began once more.

 

Ori’s mind whirled.  It seemed...  How could he believe it?  But if he had not outright said it, Thorin had implied that he had believed that Kili loved Ori.  Perhaps what he had said might be interpreted differently, but...  Ori flushed.  Thorin had certainly made it clear that Ori had not hidden his love for Kili from anyone.  But he supposed it didn’t matter.  If there _was_ a Dwarf under the mountain who had not known before, his mortifying confession had changed that now.  He sat down again, elbows on his knees, and hid his face in his hands.  Kili dropped to his knees on the floor beside him.

 

“Ori, please,” he begged, his tone of voice wretched.  “I’m so sorry; I—I can’t stand to see you this way.  I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

 

“Please go away, Kili,” Ori whispered without looking up.  “Please just go away.”  He could hear Kili sob once, and then one of his hands was pried away from his face so that Kili could clutch it in his own.

 

“Not until you tell me you can forgive me,” he said urgently.  “I...I know I never said anything before—“ 

 

But Nori’s smooth voice cut him off before he could finish.  Nori was the most dangerous Dwarf Ori knew when he spoke that way, even more so than an unstable Thorin.  Thorin at least might forget his threat or recover a bit of his sanity before he followed through.  When Nori spoke in that voice, he was promising retribution he would not fail to fulfil.  And Ori thought Kili must know that about Nori as well; Nori might keep his secrets, but all the Company knew that much about him.

 

“I think I heard my brother tell you to go away, little princeling,” he said.  Kili looked from Ori to Nori and back again to Ori.

 

“Ori, if you really want me to, I’ll leave you alone,” he said quietly.  Ori nodded without meeting his eyes, and Kili blinked glassy eyes a few times before he stood and turned to walk away.  But after only a few steps, he turned back around.  “I am sorry for hurting you—so sorry, and...  I hope—I know you don’t think I deserve it, but I hope you can forgive me someday.”  He kicked the ground angrily.  “But I won’t ever bother you again if you don’t.”  He didn’t move until Nori put one hand on Ori’s back and the other on his belt knife, and then he finally turned and melted away into the crowd.  After he was gone, Nori knelt to gently wipe away Ori’s tears.

 

“The deepest, darkest mines in Erebor,” he said.  “Won’t be found for decades.”  Ori exhaled the briefest puff of wistful laughter.

 

“Dori?” he asked.

 

“Óin’s distracting him for now,” Nori said.  “But we’d better keep an eye on him for the next hundred years or so, or one day Dwalin’ll have to arrest him for that worm’s murder.”  Ori laughed again, an unwilling gasp.

 

“You _just_ threatened to kill him yourself,” he said.

 

“Yes, but I’m sneaky,” Nori agreed.  “Dori may think he’s stealthy, but I think you and I both know that what he’d really do is rip Kili’s head off in the midst of a crowded marketplace.”

 

Ori sighed and let his body slump against Nori’s, hiding his face against his brother’s shoulder.  He wanted nothing more than to flee, to hide and not come out for years; but he didn’t think it would be safe to leave.  Look at what Thorin had thought Bofur might do, simply because he wasn’t present...  He let Nori steer him over to where Dori stood; and when Dori stared at him in fury, Ori merely let his body sag against his oldest brother’s.  After a moment Dori’s arms came up to hold him tight.  Óin smiled pityingly at Ori, patted his back, and went to stand with his own brother.

 

“He never deserved you,” Dori whispered fiercely in Ori’s ear.  “If he comes near you again, I’ll cut off his balls and feed them to him.”  Ori stiffened.

 

“It’s all right,” he said.  “I’d rather you didn’t.”  Dori growled and his arms tightened uncomfortably around Ori.

 

“You don’t tell me what to do, little brother,” he bellowed.  Ori forced himself to relax trustingly into Dori’s embrace rather than try to pull away in distress.  _It’s not like I could break free anyway_ , he thought resignedly.

 

“Of course not,” he murmured.  “I’m sorry, Dori.  I only meant to ask:  could I do it myself?  I think it might make me feel better.”  Dori huffed and was silent for a bit.

 

“I’ll think about it,” he finally said, his tone begrudging.

 

“Thank you,” Ori said.  “You’re the best brother a Dwarf could have.”  _Mahal’s forge,_ he thought shakily.  _I hope that’s enough to hold him off for a while.  We’re definitely going to have to keep him distracted and far away from Kili on his bad days._

 

When at last Dori’s arms loosened around him, Ori turned around so that he could see what was happening with Thorin and his small group of advisors now.  The severity of Thorin’s frenzy seemed to have abated for now, the edge of violent fury muted.  Kili had joined them, although he stayed carefully positioned between Fili and Balin, out of Thorin’s reach.  Thorin seemed ready to make a decision; but just as it appeared that Thorin had approved the course of action recommended to him, Kili risked drawing the king’s ire once more.

 

“Could I suggest something, Uncle?” he asked.  “It just occurred to me:  what if the Arkenstone hasn’t been stolen?  What if it just...fell off or something?  It might still be in the throne room, maybe?  Would you grant me permission to look for it there?”  Thorin frowned at him.

 

“Do you think me so blind I would not notice it?” he asked in return.

 

“No, but...too shocked and upset, maybe?” Kili replied.  “Please?  If it’s not there, I will have wasted fifteen minutes at the most, and if it is...well, maybe we’ll feel foolish, but we’ll have saved a lot of effort and we’ll have the Heart of the Mountain back where it belongs.”  Thorin sighed.

 

“Very well,” he said.  “But you won’t go alone, and you will be quick about it.”  He signalled a couple of the Dwarves of the Iron Hills standing nearby.  “You will go with my sister-son and return here immediately when he is done.”

 

Kili bowed his head gratefully.  “Thank you,” he said.  “I swear it, Uncle; if it is there, I will find it.”  Thorin nodded brusquely and gave Kili the key to the throne room.  Kili left almost at a run, and the two Dwarves who were to accompany him started with surprise before following at a slightly slower pace.  Thorin frowned after them, but eventually gestured to Balin, curtly signalling him to begin explaining to the gathered Dwarves what they would do.  Soon the Dwarves were divided into small parties and each group assigned a quadrant of the mountain to search.  Nothing was to be left untouched or unexplored, the smallest nook or most secret crevice along with the highest soaring expanses.  Private residences were not exempt, and in fact priority was given to thorough searches of the spaces in which the Elves and Men visiting the mountain were living.  Balin was very tense as he explained that assignment; and while most other groups were divided between Dwarves of the Iron Hills with a member of the Company to lead them, this task he gave to Dwalin, with Nori and Ori to assist him.

 

The rest of the groups were sent off, but Balin kept Dwalin, Nori and Ori behind until Kili returned.  Ori suspected he had little hope, but if there were some chance of avoiding the diplomatic furore searching the ambassador’s quarters would cause, he would take it.  Unfortunately, when Kili returned, all out of breath, he could only shake his head.  He hadn’t found it.  Ori realised that he hadn’t thought it likely, but he had hoped...  But this was foul play after all.  As he followed Dwalin out of the council room, Ori snuck a glance at Kili.  His head hung down in the very picture of embarrassed dejection.  But there was a glint to his eye...  Ori shook such thoughts away.  He must be mistaken.  How could Kili possibly be pleased that the Arkenstone was gone—clearly stolen—without a trace?


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Searching for the Heart of the Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides* I am appalled at myself, and I am forced to grovel at your feet, Tagath; I am so sorry for the long wait! RL + holidays + children home from school = little to no time for writing. I beg forgiveness! (And I am prepared to abase myself as long as necessary to get it. It won't be pretty.)

 

 

_Part Three_

 

 

Dwalin was not the diplomat Balin was, but he was also smart enough to know his limitations.  He and Nori discussed their strategy in quiet voices as they went, and Nori was the one who spoke when they reached the residence given to Bard’s representatives.  He was at his most convincing.  If Ori had not known better, he would never have suspected the entire story was concocted.

 

“Thank you for receiving us,” he began, bowing to Bard’s primary ambassador.  “I am afraid I come with troubling news; and I must apologise as well, for we deceived you earlier this morning regarding Balin’s absence from your negotiations.  Obviously it could only be a crisis of great seriousness that could keep him from that important task.”  The Man frowned, but he did not yet seem too upset.

 

“He lied, did he?” he said, and directed a suspicious look at Ori.  “I did think something seemed off.  This one’s not the best dissembler.”  Ori blushed.  It worked in their favour now, that the Man had suspected something was wrong with Ori’s story; but it was embarrassing and Nori would _never_ let him forget it.

 

“Again, you have our deepest apologies,” Nori replied smoothly.  Ori marvelled.  How did he seem so impossibly sincere?  Nori looked every inch of the scoundrel he was; but when he spoke it was forgotten, and he could convince _anyone_ that nothing but the truth crossed his lips.  “The young one only followed the orders he had been given.  Quite frankly, we hoped to resolve the matter without ever drawing it to your attention; but we have been unable to do so.”  The Man raised an eyebrow.

 

“Go on,” he said.  Nori bowed his head, reluctant obligation painted all across his face.

 

“We have learnt that there is a dangerous conspiracy among a number of disgruntled Dwarves—a very small number, I assure you—who disapprove of our negotiations with you, believing that any treasure Smaug brought to the mountain is now the property of the Dwarves,” he said.  “Please:  you must not believe that this is true of the majority of us.  His Majesty King Thorin and those who obey him seek only peace between our peoples.  But these rebellious scourges hope to disrupt that peace, bringing war between Men and Dwarves, so that not one piece of gold will be given in reparations.”  The Man folded his hands thoughtfully in front of his mouth as his advisors nervously drew closer to him, alert and defensive.

 

“How do they think they can trigger this war?” the ambassador asked.  “That’s the trouble, isn’t it?”  Nori nodded, falsely chagrined.

 

“We believe that they plan an attack on you here, in your quarters, so that Bard will have no choice but to avenge your deaths,” he said.  “For your own safety, we beg that you will allow us to move you to a more secure location, and to search every inch of these quarters as well for any sign of a trap in case the conspirators have already set their plans in motion.”  Bard’s Man observed Nori for a long time, and Ori tried to push down his worry.  _No one_ , no matter how perceptive, could tell when Nori lied.  And at last the Man nodded in agreement.

 

“We will accompany you,” he said.  “And we are thankful for King Thorin’s protection as well as your belated honesty in this matter.”  Nori’s responding smile was relieved.

 

“I am most grateful for your understanding,” he said.  “There are trusted guards awaiting just outside these doors who will escort you to your new quarters and remain there to protect you.  I assure you:  they will shield you with their lives from any danger these rebels may pose.”  The Man nodded briefly and allowed Nori to guide him out the door.  The waiting guard had instructions to take them to another residence, deeper in the mountain, one that had already been searched inch by inch.  Once they were alone, the three Dwarves looked at each other and sighed.

 

“Now for the fun part,” Nori said.  Dwalin snorted and Ori shook his head.

 

“I don’t know where to begin,” he complained.

 

“Treat it like a hunt for a lost bead,” Nori told him.  “And if you find anything that seems like it might contain a hidden compartment, call for me or Dwalin to take a look at it.  It’s not the smallest gem, the Arkenstone.  If it’s here, it won’t be too hard to find.”  

 

“And we need to be quick about it,” Dwalin added, “Because we still have the Master’s Men and the Elves to search after this.  Be thorough, but be quick.”

 

Ori took a deep breath, nodded, and they went to work.

 

They found nothing in the quarters of Bard’s ambassador, nor the Master’s, nor even the Elves’.  The Master’s ambassador had believed Nori easily (though Ori was disgusted to see his reaction; he seemed to care more about the possibility that this imaginary terrorist group might convince Thorin to hold back some gold than about the risk of war).  They found much that indicated the Master’s Man was less than scrupulous...but no sign of the Arkenstone, and they searched _very_ thoroughly.

 

The few Elves seemed sceptical about the reasons Nori gave for the search of their quarters, but it seemed to Ori that they were inventing their own explanations of convoluted political infighting between different factions of the Company and had no suspicion that they were under scrutiny.  It made him wonder about the kinds of subtle scheming that took place in the Mirkwood, and Ori reminded himself to mention it to Balin later.  It wouldn’t do for Erebor to be caught up in that sort of nonsense.  But the Arkenstone was not with the Elves either.

 

Privately Ori had thought the Elves the most likely culprits.  The Master’s Man would be the most likely to take advantage of an easy opportunity, but he was too lazy to exert the tremendous effort it would take to steal the Arkenstone and too craven to risk the necessary danger.  Ori would be forever grateful to Ireth and the other Elven healers who had helped Dwarves as well as Men and their own people after the battle, but he also respected the Elves enough to know they were capable of impressive action both physical and mental; and while he might trust Ireth, Thranduil he didn’t trust at all.

 

With every passing minute, Ori felt sicker.

 

Theirs was the first group to return to Thorin’s council room.  Even Balin had led a group of searchers, so only Fili and Thorin remained.  Fili, Ori supposed, would only slow the hunt for the Arkenstone due to his impairment; and Thorin was too infuriated to join the seekers and probably wanted to be waiting if one of the groups brought back the Heart of the Mountain.  _When_ one of the groups brought back the Heart of the Mountain, Ori reminded himself:  not finding it wasn’t a possibility.

 

Fili sat silently watching Thorin, his normally calm face lined with stress; and Thorin was leaning on the council table closely examining the map of Erebor.  They waited together without speaking.  When Dwalin, Nori and Ori entered, both Durins’ heads immediately shot up.  Their failure must have been immediately obvious, for Fili closed his eyes in frustration and leant his head back against the wall, scrubbing his face roughly with his hands; while Thorin slammed his fist down hard enough on the table that when Dwalin hurried over to inspect it, he found that Thorin had broken two bones in his hand.  Dwalin appraised him thoroughly before he dared rebuke him with a gentle cuff to the head.  Thorin’s response was a rather shamefaced grimace.

 

It was the second time since Ori had learnt of the disaster that he had seen a flicker of Thorin as he had been before the madness took him:  before, when he had shown pity to Ori and condemned Kili for his affair with Bofur, and now this.  Probably it was just foolishness; clearly Ori was not only terrible at interpreting the behaviour of others but also fully capable of imagining explanations for that behaviour that couldn’t be farther removed from reality.  But it made Ori maudlin, remembering the quest from Ered Luin to the Lonely Mountain.  Thorin had been a Dwarf all of them would willingly follow into death, and the unlikelihood of their successfully defeating Smaug had not mattered to Ori.  Those long months seemed like the best moments of his life now.  The dangers had faded in his memory some; he knew they had.  His present rosy view of their travails was not true to the realities of their journey.  But they had been led by a Dwarf who was worthy to be their king on a glorious quest to recover a great Dwarven kingdom, and Ori’s love for Kili, while unrequited, had been a comfortable and familiar weight on his shoulders.  And his oldest brother had been healthy:  protective and loving and gentle.

 

It had been a good time:  the most uncertain and dangerous, the happiest and best chapter in his life.

 

After a moment, Fili sighed and limped cautiously over to the table to ask Dwalin to report their progress.  Dwalin briefly stated their findings—or lack thereof.  Fili frowned and turned his attention to the sectioned diagram of the map of Erebor.

 

“I suppose the best plan would be for you to search here and here now,” he told Dwalin.  “Uncle?”  Thorin turned to study the map as well.  He pointed to an additional sector also.

 

“Add this section as well,” he said.  “When the other groups return, they can divide up to search this.”  He gestured to indicate a goodly portion of Erebor.  Fili pursed his lips.

 

“They won’t be able to finish all that,” he disagreed.  “Maybe to here?”  He outlined an area about a third the size of what Thorin had assigned.

 

“All of it,” Thorin replied, his tone implacable.

 

“It will take all night and most of tomorrow to carefully and thoroughly explore that much,” Fili said.  Thorin raised an eyebrow but said nothing.  Fili sighed but patiently tried again.  “Do you want the searchers to be sloppy with exhaustion?  Let them sleep, even if it is only briefly, before resuming the hunt in the morning.  It is not possible to smuggle the Arkenstone out of the mountain.  It will still be here tomorrow.  We _will_ find it, Uncle.”

 

“It shouldn’t have been possible to remove it from the throne room,” Thorin said angrily.

 

“Uncle,” Fili persisted, “the Great Gate is closed, and it will not open until the Arkenstone has been found.  The throne room, I can imagine there might be a way.  There are too many possible entrances into the throne room.  But circumventing the Gate is impossible.”  Thorin considered the map for a long time before he replied.

 

“Very well,” he said at last.  “We’ll go at your pace for now.  But if it has not been found tomorrow...”  Ori thought Fili’s shoulders relaxed the smallest bit, though he was careful to keep his demeanour serious.

 

“Of course,” he said.  “And now: will you eat after all, as we send Dwalin, Nori and Ori on to their next allotted sector?”  Dwalin seemed to take that as a signal, for he quickly led Nori and Ori out of Thorin’s council room to begin their search.  Ori could hear Thorin refusing food as they left.

 

The remainder of their search was as fruitless as the first part had been, and it was late into the evening when they returned to report, exhausted and troubled.  Nor had any of the other search parties been successful, it seemed.  As Dwalin apprised a tired-looking Fili and Balin of their lack of success and confirmed the boundaries of the district of the city they had searched for the Arkenstone, Ori peeked around him to inspect the map.  Great swathes had been marked as already searched:  almost a fifth of Erebor, Ori thought.  His apprehension grew.  He couldn’t imagine what the state of Thorin’s temper would be if the search went on for four more days.  He watched the king seething as each crew of Dwarves reported.  His hand had been bandaged at some point.  Ori wondered if Fili had ever been able to convince him to eat.  Which reminded him...

 

“Can we eat now?” he asked plaintively.  Dwalin snorted and Nori laughed outright.  Even Balin and Fili smiled in amusement, but Balin also pointed out a cold buffet that was set out on the other side of the room.

 

“Go on,” he said, “and then you’d best get some sleep.  Thorin wants everyone back here early tomorrow to continue the hunt.”  Dwalin nodded, but he seemed as if he intended to stay and confer with Balin and Fili.  Ori rolled his eyes.  He grabbed Nori by one hand and Dwalin by the other and began to drag them over to the food laid out for them.  Fili and Balin’s light amusement turned to outright laughter.  “Good luck escaping that one, brother!” Balin called out to Dwalin as Ori pulled him away.

 

Some Dwarves were eating already, though more were only beginning to serve themselves.  Kili was one of those at the table; and he gave Ori and his two encumbrances a sidelong glance as they approached, though Ori took care to go to the other end of the buffet.

 

“All right,” Dwalin complained good-naturedly, and shook Ori off.  “Give one ‘Ri the littlest hint of attachment and they all seem to think it means they can boss you around.”  Ori grinned at him and playfully tweaked his beard.

 

“Are you saying I can’t boss you around?” he asked innocently.  “Or do you mean that you aren’t hungry so you might as well go keep Thorin company?”  Dwalin snorted and grabbed a plate.

 

“Always think they know best, the ‘Ris,” he said.  Ori grinned widely at him again, handed a plate to Nori, took a plate of his own and began to fill it.  Perhaps he stole the tiniest glimpse of Kili, who appeared to have been watching him in return.  He was frowning.  _What now?_ Ori thought.  _Am I not allowed to eat, or is it the teasing that bothers him?_   Ori stiffened and determinedly averted his gaze.  He didn’t care if Dwalin had trained Kili since he was a Dwarfling and Kili thought everyone was obliged to show him the reverence and respect due a Dwarf Lord; he was also Ori’s brother’s lover and Ori could pester and plague him if he wanted to.  It was practically a younger brother’s duty.  Ori was sure Kili would be a hundred times worse with any lover Fili might have someday.  _Hypocrite,_ he sniffed.

 

But having missed a midday meal, Ori was honestly famished; so he pushed aside thoughts of Kili and steadily worked his way through everything heaped on his plate.  Nori and Dwalin watched him with amusement.

 

“Where does it all go?” Dwalin asked Nori facetiously.  “The way he eats, I’d expect him to look a bit more like a proper Dwarf by now.”

 

“Not every Dwarf looks like a stone wall,” Nori replied, his voice airy.  “Some of us are built to be lithe and limber.”  Dwalin leered at him.

 

“Limber, eh?” he smirked.  “How limber?”  Ori groaned and hid his face in his hands.

 

“Why do you do this to me?” he complained.  “I’m scarred for life now.”  Nori ruffled his hair until Ori was sure he was completely dishevelled.  When he was done, Ori huffed; and Nori and Dwalin toasted each other.

 

“Ah, our work here is complete,” Nori sighed happily.  “Dwalin, are you done with your dinner?”  He raised his eyebrows suggestively.  “Dori’s group doesn’t seem to be back yet; and Ori will have a second helping, I’m sure...”  He paused, but Dwalin seemed bemused.  Ori shook his head.

 

“Go on,” he said, exaggeratedly resigned.  “I’ll wait for Dori and walk home with him.  Just make sure you make it to your bedroom.  _With_ the door closed, if you please!”  Nori smiled wickedly at him and from the eager look on his face, Dwalin seemed to finally catch on; but before they left, Dori’s crew returned, and even from across the room it was clear that Dori was not having a good day.  He had been better earlier, but perhaps the day had been too long—too stressful and tiring.  Perhaps his mood had simply changed.  Whatever had happened, Nori and Dwalin would not be sneaking away this evening.  Both of Dori’s brothers would be required.  Without a word they abandoned their plates and hurried toward the oldest ‘Ri.

 

Dori was storming over to the central council table, fury on his face; and his two companions from the Iron Hills were not far behind him.  Neither of them looked happy either.

 

“You can forget sending these worthless asses with me tomorrow,” Dori fumed.  “All day I had to put up with their idiocy, and disrespect too.”  He turned on the two defensive Dwarves.  “Imbeciles!  I am one of Thorin Oakenshield’s Company!  I’ll teach you some manners!”  He loomed menacingly at his erstwhile partners, who glared right back at him, flushed red with outrage.  One put his hand on his axe handle.  Ori skidded up to Dori while Nori calmly confronted the offended pair, smiling persuasively even as he put his hand firmly on the chest of the Dwarf who seemed likely to escalate the conflict with the oldest ‘Ri.  Ori, meanwhile, turned his attention to Dori.

 

“Dori!” he exclaimed.  “Finally you’re back!  You must have conducted such an excellently thorough search!  Any luck?”  Dori scowled still, but he reluctantly transferred his gaze to Ori.

 

“I had these two incompetents to deal with,” he said, shaking his head.  “I made ‘em work when they wanted to slack, but we didn’t find it.”  Behind him, Ori could hear the other Dwarves in Dori’s crew yelling at Nori, but he ignored it.  That was Nori’s problem, not his.  He insinuated himself under Dori’s arm and hugged his brother, smiling and gently tugging him away from his adversaries and towards the buffet at the other side of the room.  “Come eat,” he encouraged.  “You must be starving.”  Dori regarded him suspiciously but allowed Ori to guide him.  Unfortunately, he didn’t stop talking.

 

“Shiftless, lazy, paltry shirkers, these Iron Hills Dwarves,” he complained loudly.  Every Dwarf within hearing range turned to watch them, and the Dwarves Dain had left at the Lonely Mountain protested contentiously.  Ori stifled a resigned sigh.  At this rate, not only would everyone learn at last just how badly Dori had been affected by his injury, they’d be lucky if only one or two of the Dwarves from the Iron Hills challenged him.  Ori tried to distract him.

 

“There’s a nice sausage I think you’ll like, and ham, and some rye bread.  And some green bits I didn’t try, but you might like them,” he told Dori.  He bit his lip.  It was risky, but...  “There’s probably not much ale left, but there’s not a bad mead.”  Dori allowed himself to be coaxed.

 

“Get me some of that ale, if there is any left, and mead if there’s not,” he said.  “We had to search right through lunch because of those layabouts.”  Ori forbore to mention that none of them had been able to stop for the midday meal.  Dori wouldn’t be reasonable right now.  Ori hurried to draw a tankard of ale (luckily there _was_ a bit left) so that he could return to Dori before any other confrontations flared.

 

Ori delivered Dori’s tankard of ale and Dori gulped it down thirstily.  He was half done with his third pint by the time a frowning Nori joined them.

 

“What did you do to those Dwarves?” he asked Dori.  “They were grumpy as a hungry Hobbit.”  Dori downed the rest of his ale and thrust the mug at Ori.

 

“Need a refill,” he said shortly.  Nori’s eyebrows went up.

 

“I think you’d better have something to eat with the next one,” he said.  “Ori, bring him a plate of food first; then you can get Dori a second pint.”

 

“It’s his fourth, actually,” Ori admitted.  Nori pursed his lips together, but he didn’t say anything else; so Ori went first to fill a plate for Dori, and after he delivered that, managed to snag one of the last pints from the keg of ale.  When he returned, Nori and Dori were sitting in silence.  Dori had made some inroads on his plate; but as soon as he saw Ori, he gestured impatiently for his tankard and began to drink again.  A minute later he handed the empty mug back to Ori.

 

“That was the last of the ale,” Ori told him apologetically.  Dori shrugged.

 

“Mead, then,” he said.  Ori and Nori’s eyes met.

 

“Finish your ham while we wait for him,” Nori told Dori after a moment.  He gave Ori a meaning-filled glance.  “Take your time, little brother.  The best mead won’t be any good to Dori if you spill it because you’re in such a hurry.”  Ori nodded and moved away.  He did his best to delay his return as Nori had suggested, but he knew if he postponed for too long it would only aggravate Dori in the end.  When he returned with the mead, Nori was persuading a reluctant Dori that they should retire to their house after Dori finished his mead.

 

“We’ll be back here soon enough in the morning,” Nori said.  “No reason to subject yourself to the company of these Dwarves anymore tonight when you’re already irritated.”  Dori scowled; but he did not argue further, so Ori thought that he would cooperate.  And indeed, about ten minutes later he joined Ori in following Nori toward the room’s exit.  As they made their way through the crowd, they passed by one of the Dwarves with whom Dori had searched.

 

“...looks, but he’s a stroppy dobber…” he was saying to a group of his comrades.  Dori turned to frown at him and he glared back at Dori.

 

“If you have something to say, say it to my face, you scaffy,” Dori snarled.  The Dwarf stepped towards Dori threateningly.  Ori tensed and looked to Nori for reinforcement, but he was some distance ahead and seemed not to have noticed that they had stopped.

 

“Insult me again and you won’t be so pretty when I’m done with you,” the Dwarf sneered.  Ori drew breath to intervene.

 

“It’s been a difficult day for all of us,” he began in his most mollifying voice, but even as he did Dori drew back his fist and struck the Dwarf in the face.  An immediate uproar rose from the nearby Dwarves as the one Dori had hit staggered back.  Ori tried to push Dori away but Dori had set his feet; he couldn’t move him.  A dense circle had formed to watch the fight; the other Dwarves shouted and Ori could see bets being made, and Dori snarled and ignored Ori’s attempts to herd him away from the fight.  Ori next tried to step between the two Dwarves as the Dwarf Dori had insulted came back at him, but some of the crowd around them held him back.  _This is a disaster_ , he thought.  “Dori!  Don’t!  Stop this, please!” he cried, but he didn’t think Dori could hear him over the roar of the crowd and he wasn’t sure he would have stopped if he had heard him.

 

Dori and his opponent were grappling now, their arms braced against each other.  Ori pulled away from the Dwarves that had stopped him from interfering in the fight and searched the crowd for any of the Company who could help him, but every Dwarf he could see was of the Iron Hills.  He turned back to the fight to look for a way to intervene, but when he thought he saw a chance to slip in between the two fighters, another Dwarf held him back once more.

 

“Let go!” Ori struggled against his captor and cried.

 

“I’ll let go if you’ll stay out of it!” the stern-faced Dwarf replied.

 

“That’s my brother!” Ori protested.  “I have to try to stop him!”  Although his face showed regret, the Dwarf shook his head and held tight to Ori’s arm.

 

“If they don’t fight it out now, it’ll just fester; and this won’t be the last fight or the worst one,” the Dwarf replied.  “Let them tire themselves out a bit.”

 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Ori said.  “One of the Company, fighting one of the Iron Hills—it’s going to cause resentment.”

 

“Not much, I think.  No more than is already there,” the Dwarf said.  “And I think this is less about the Company over the Iron Hills than it is about Randviör’s unceasing attempts to seduce any Dwarf that catches his eye.  Which is just about every Dwarf he meets.”  He shrugged.  “Handsome Dwarf like your brother?  I suspect he was pestering him all day.”  Ori frowned at him.  Still, maybe it was good news, he thought.  Perhaps Dori wouldn’t bear all the blame for the altercation.

 

“Will you let me go at least?” he asked.  “I won’t try to interfere again, at least not until there’s someone else to help break up the fight.”

 

“All right,” the Dwarf nodded.  He released Ori’s arm.  “Give ‘em a bit more time to work it out of their systems, and then I’ll help you pull ‘em apart.”  Ori turned back to the fight without acknowledging the Dwarf’s statement.  He had two older brothers to tell him what to do; he did not need strangers volunteering for the task.

 

Dori and the other Dwarf—Randviör?—were now rolling on the floor.  Randviör seemed to be getting the worst of it; but Dori’s face was red, his jacket dusty and torn at the sleeve, and his braids were tousled.  He was going to be mortified when he came back to himself.  Ori winced as Randviör pulled one of Dori’s side braids loose.  Dori responded with a bellow and a brutal blow to the other Dwarf’s face that seemed to leave him dazed; his hands fell away from Dori and he shook his head bemusedly.  Ori saw his chance:  he leapt forward, grabbed the collar of Dori’s jacket and heaved.  Randviör remained on the ground as Ori pulled Dori away and the Dwarf that had stopped Ori earlier stepped up to him.

 

“You’re done, Randviör,” he said bluntly.  “I’d think you’d know that a member of Thorin’s Company must be more than just a pretty face.”  Randviör groaned as he stumbled to his feet.

 

“That’s not what this is about!” he complained.  “Yeah, I may have tried my luck; but I’ve been turned down before without it coming to blows, and you know it, Herdís.  The day started out fine, but he got worse and worse…  By the end he was treating us like Orcs treat slaves!  And that vicious!  I may not be one of Thorin’s fine Company but there’s naught wrong with the Dwarves of the Iron Hills, and I won’t suffer it to be said!”  By the end of this speech he was shouting, and some cheering rose out of the crowd in response.  Dori seemed about to speak (by which Ori meant explode again in rage), but at that point Nori finally pushed back through the packed Dwarves to find his brothers.  He took one look, shook his head and sighed, crouching down next to Dori and whispering quietly to him.

 

Resentful muttering still filled the hall, and Ori looked at the crowd and took a deep breath before speaking.  He had already been humiliated in front of these Dwarves once today; he dreaded how they might respond; but he must try to patch some of the goodwill Dori’s cantankerousness had torn away.

 

“I think I may speak for all the Company when I say:  well do we know the value of the Dwarves of the Iron Hills,” he said.  “When Thorin called, you came with a will; and you fought valiantly against the foe.  We would be bones under Orcish feet if it were not for you, and you have stayed to help us rebuild this great city.  I am glad and grateful for it; we all are.”  His words were as fine as he knew to shape them, but his voice wobbled and he knew his face was red.  He liked writing better; it was easier when he could imagine his audience instead of be forced to face their hostile faces.  This:  he hated this, but what Dori had done—it must be repaired somehow.  Some of the Iron Hills Dwarves seemed mollified, but many still glowered at him.  He wasn’t sure what else he might say to convince them.  And then Ori felt strong hands on his shoulders, and turned to find Dwalin standing proudly behind him.

 

“I’m not so good with words as our little scholar,” he said.  “But _I’ll_ say _this_ :  I won’t blame Dori for wanting to try his skill against one from the Iron Hills.  You’re doughty fighters, and the past month’s been dry and dull as dirt.  I’d take up a friendly bout with any of you who wanted it, and share an ale after with pride.”  He paused a moment to look around the crowd and allowed the lines of his face to fall into their customary intimidating scowl.  “And any who feel they need to test their arms against this Dwarf or any other of the Company should know they start with me.  And I’ll be sure they _finish_ with me.”  The Dwarves who had not been convinced by Ori’s words seemed swayed by Dwalin’s not so veiled threats; they looked down, and away, and the crowd of spectators began to disperse.

 

Ori turned to beam brightly at Dwalin.  He was glad to have the eloquence of Dwalin’s fists to support him.

 

“Thank you, Dwalin,” Ori said quietly.  Dwalin’s arm went round his shoulder and squeezed:  it felt partly like a hug and partly like he was an apple in a cider press.  “Oof,” Ori groused.  “If you smush me much more, I’ll be Dwarf juice.”  Still, he smiled as he said it.  Dwalin was as good a brother as one could ask for; though Ori was a bit amazed Nori had managed to see it—before Dwalin, Nori had tended to lightning quick affairs, over almost before they had begun—but he was glad of it.  Nori deserved someone like Dwalin, and Ori had come to love him almost as one of his own brothers.  As Dwalin steered him to the door, Ori’s eye passed over the crowd and he saw Kili frowning at him and Dwalin again.  _Again?_ he thought.  _What is bothering him now?_

 

“I always do like to squeeze a ‘Ri brother and see what comes out of him,” Dwalin replied with a suggestive leer.  Ori wrinkled his nose at him.

 

“You are disgusting and vulgar and I don’t want to hear it,” he informed Dwalin.  “That’s my brother you’re talking about.”  Dwalin only laughed heartily, and continued to laugh and tease Ori all the way to the adopted ‘Ri home.  Nori and Dori were a bit ahead of them; and every so often Nori would turn and smirk at them, which would set Dwalin off again—each time worse than before.  By the time Ori could escape to his attic nook, he was thoroughly mortified; but he was also happy for a moment, even after such a stressful day.  The danger of Dori’s condition being exposed had been averted for now, and Ori and Nori would be by Dori’s side no matter what happened—and Dwalin, too, it seemed.   And for all the stress that had fallen onto Nori’s shoulders, Ori thought that he was happier now, with Dwalin, than Ori had ever known him to be.  If Ori didn’t have the love of the Dwarf he had wanted for so long, that didn’t mean he couldn’t find joy in the way his brother was loved.

 

Ori knew Nori had never expected it, to find love along the road amongst their small band.  He thought perhaps Nori had thought he never would love anyone the way he loved Dwalin.  Ori would take hope from it.  Kili was lost to him, but perhaps someday there would be someone to love him, come along when he least expected it.  It was painful right now, but he thought Kili was still his friend; he hadn’t lost that.  And his family was more important than any friend or lover could be to him, and no matter what, Ori had his brothers—and now he could count Dwalin as one of them.

 

For a moment as he lay down to sleep, he pitied mad Thorin.  Unique, irreplaceable, stunningly wondrous as it was:  nevertheless the Arkenstone was just a stone, and though Thorin had a wealth of loving family and stalwart followers, he couldn’t see past its eerie glow.  He had allowed it to come between him and one who loved him dearly, and whom he had adored in his own right.  Such a rare love, pushed away and broken in rage, over what?  It was beautiful, but it was cold, the Heart of the Mountain.  

 

Ori pulled his warm blankets up to his shoulders and closed his eyes, and wondered if perhaps Thorin would have been better off if the Arkenstone had never been found.  He drifted off to sleep before finding an answer.


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the search for the Heart of the Mountain continues, another search becomes necessary as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very excited about this chapter for many reasons, but mostly because I think you will like it--Ori gets to yell, and Kili (among others) explains what it feels like to be in love…
> 
> *squeals with excitement*

On the second day of their search, Ori rose early to join the other Dwarves as they continued their search for the Heart of the Mountain.  It could not have possibly disappeared in this way; it could not have left the mountain; soon they would find it.

 

They didn’t find it.

 

Thorin’s anger roiled through the Lonely Mountain like a silent, deadly storm.  It reminded Ori of the tales miners told, of invisible vapours that exploded like dragon’s fire if exposed to open flame; or other gasses that without any sign, any odour, crept up from the depths of an old tunnel or crevice and stole the life from limbs and breath from body.  He didn’t know if Thorin would explode in fury or silently decapitate the next Dwarf who must tell him the Arkenstone had not yet been found, but he feared one of those things was inevitable.

 

And Bofur…Bofur hadn’t yet come back from wherever he had gone.  Ori wasn’t sure Kili’s story about exploring the old mines could be believed.  Bofur would not have gone deeper than he could go in a day without telling his brother and cousin, would he?  But it was clear they didn’t and hadn’t known where he was.

 

Nor had Ori ever thought Bofur a foolish Dwarf.  But truly, now that he had had some time to think on it…if Bofur had gone down into a mine, abandoned for over half a century, alone…it was beyond imprudent.  Ori was no miner, but he was still a Dwarf.  He knew enough to know that proper safety protocols never allowed Dwarves to traverse any portion of any mine shaft alone, let alone explore an unknown mine without at least one companion.  It was too dangerous.  It seemed all too likely that if Bofur had gone exploring down an old mine by himself, something had happened that prevented his return.  Perhaps he was trapped or injured, needing help that would not come because Thorin had directed every possible resource in Erebor to the search for the Arkenstone.  But…  Kili wasn’t worried.  Oh, he _pretended_ he was worried, but all Ori had to do was look at Bombur to know differently.  Bofur’s brother was worried.

 

His lover was not.

 

The third and fourth days were no better.  Rather, they were far worse; Bofur’s absence was an unspoken pit yawning at their feet.  Thorin had said nothing yet; and while each member of the Company took a moment to speak with Bombur and Bifur, to offer support and discuss what should be done, none dared suggest to the king that instead of seeking a dead jewel they should be searching for a live Dwarf, their friend and stalwart companion, who seemed to be lost and was likely injured.  Everyone remembered how Thorin had reacted when Bofur had not been with them that first day.  No one dared provoke such a response again.

 

Until the fifth day, when, pale and trembling with Bifur at his side, Bombur asked to be excused from the search for the Arkenstone so that he could look for his brother.

 

Thorin seemed then to wake from his dark brooding to direct his gaze at Bombur.  Ori could not read the direction of Thorin’s thoughts from his visage, and Thorin remained silent as he stared at Bofur’s apprehensive brother.

 

“Please, your Majesty,” Bombur whispered.  “I can’t believe it; Bofur’s always been loyal to you; but if he’s somehow involved in this, I won’t hide him.  You’ll have justice.  Only…please let me look for him, to see…”  His shaking voice trailed away.  Balin, standing at Thorin’s side, looked thoughtfully at the king.

 

“Perhaps it is time, Thorin,” he said gently.  “If nothing else, it’s a hard thing to expect Bombur to wait without acting when the chances are Bofur is lost in one of the mines.”  But at that Kili pushed his way forward out of the crowd of riveted Dwarves.

 

“Bofur’s a better miner than that,” he argued.  “No one could navigate Erebor’s depths better than him.”  Balin shook his head in response.

 

“All the more reason, lad,” he said.  “If he’s not lost, something’s preventing him from returning.”

 

“Thinking that way’s an insult to Bofur,” Kili said.  Balin frowned at him.

 

“It is not,” he said.  “Accidents can happen even to those with the best stone sense, and Bofur’s never been in those mines before.”

 

“He would be careful, I know it,” Kili insisted.  “I’m sure he’s fine; I think he must be caught up in the wonder of what he’s found.  He took some food and water with him, anyway.”  He paused.  “Maybe he’s just lost track of time.”

 

“For five days?” Balin asked sceptically.

 

As they argued Thorin tilted his head in thought before looking at the map of Erebor laid out on the table in front of him for several long moments, and then back at Bombur, and back to the map again.  After another long silence, Fili leant forward to capture Thorin’s attention.

 

“Always you have spoken to me of what we owe to those whom we lead,” he said carefully.  “Do we not owe this to Bofur and Bombur, and Bifur too?  When you called, Uncle, they came, all three of them.  It is not the best time, to be sure; but to be allowed to search for their brother and cousin?  It’s not much to ask.”  Thorin knit his brow as he met Fili’s steady gaze; then as he had with Bombur, let his eyes fall to the map before contemplating Fili again.

 

“Loyalty, honour, and a willing heart,” he said slowly.  The entire room seemed to catch its breath.  Fili nodded.

 

“Yes, Uncle,” he replied.  There was a long pause as Thorin seemed to sink into his own thoughts before turning to Bombur and Bifur again.

 

“You will submit the plan for your search to Balin,” he said.  “If he approves it, you have my leave to try to find your kinsman.”  Bombur nearly fell to the ground in surprised gratitude.

 

“Thank you, your Majesty; oh, thank you!” he cried.  “I can’t say—I’m too—thank you!”  He embraced Bifur and they began to approach Balin.  As the rest of the Dwarves also began to turn towards their tasks, Ori stepped forward, almost without his own volition.

 

“I’d like to help them look for Bofur, your Majesty,” he said.  Thorin’s gaze shot up and he glared at Ori balefully.

 

“No,” he said curtly.  “I will spare none but Bombur and Bifur.”  Ori bit his lip nervously but stood his ground.

 

“I don’t think it will make much difference to the search for the Arkenstone, three Dwarves less instead of two,” he said, “but three instead of two, looking for Bofur; that might make a difference.”

 

“Four,” Nori said from where he stood by Dori.  “If every Dwarf in Erebor set out to search its mines, we might not find him.  It might be hopeless.” He glanced apology at Bombur and Bifur before facing Thorin again.  “But that’s what they said it was—hopeless, I mean—thirteen Dwarves set off to recover the home a dragon stole from them.  So just thinking something’s hopeless doesn’t make it so.”  He paused.  “And I’d rather a hopeless hunt for my friend than a futile search for a boggin’ stone.”  The shocked gasps from the gathered Dwarves were drowned out by Thorin’s roar.

 

“It is the Heart of the Mountain!” he thundered as he slammed his fist down on the table so hard it jumped.  “And I am your king, wretch!”

 

“You’re my king with or without a pretty rock on the throne, Thorin,” Nori replied steadily.  “But Erebor’s heart is its people.”

 

Thorin stared at Nori as if struck.  Dori chose that moment to speak.

 

“I’d like to look for Bofur as well, your Majesty,” he said.  “If it were one of my brothers…”  His voice trailed off.  Around the room, Dwarves nodded in agreement.

 

Kili, however, did not seem to be convinced, but must interject once again.

 

“A responsible Dwarf should be able to seek out a bit of solitude without causing a great fuss and uproar,” he exclaimed.  But this argument backfired on him.

 

“As you did, when you left the mountain by yourself for ten days without telling anyone?” Balin rejoined.  “I have serious concerns regarding your definition of responsible!”

 

Thorin turned to look at Balin.

 

“ _What_ did he do?” he asked.  “When was this?”  Balin stared disbelievingly at Thorin.

 

“He came back eight?  Nine days ago?” he replied.  “We fought over it in this very room!”  He paused, a perplexed look on his face.  “Thorin?”  

 

The king shook his head and took one unsteady step back.

 

“Thorin?” Balin asked again.  Ori thought he seemed worried now.  Thorin didn’t answer him, but turned away and went to the door.  He paused there and looked back over his shoulder.

 

“Any who choose to search for Bofur may do so, as long as the search for the Arkenstone continues as well,” he said.  “Balin, if you will coordinate the efforts?”  And then he left the room.

 

Unbelieving exclamations broke out everywhere.  Ori was…  He didn’t know.  Amazed?  Bewildered?  What had just happened?  Yesterday—Mahal, ten minutes ago!  Ori had thought Thorin would rip apart anyone who suggested the hunt for the Arkenstone be called off so that the Dwarves could search for a lost miner, member of the Company or no.  Yet that was what had just happened!  With no small amount of difficulty he pulled himself out of his stupor and looked around.  Bombur seemed overwhelmed; he and Bifur were speaking to Balin now, but Bombur was red and flustered; Ori could not tell if it was the overwhelming emotion of the moment or stress as he prepared for the search.  He turned to Dori, who met his eyes and smiled, then engulfed him in a crushing embrace.  Nori was not far behind him.

 

“Look at you, little brother,” he said.  “Look at what you have done.”

 

“What I have done?” Ori exclaimed with surprise.  “I’ve just been standing here.”

 

“No, you broke the ground,” Nori said.  “We’ve all known Bombur and Bifur needed help, and wanted to help them, but none of the rest of us spoke.”

 

“You did,” Ori disagreed.  “You said as much as I did.”

 

“But you were first, Ori,” Nori said, “and I don’t know if I would have spoken up if you hadn’t already done it.  I wanted to help them, but I wasn’t ready to face down Thorin—not until my brother was in the firing line too.”

 

Ori could feel his face heat.

 

“I think it was your words that he heard,” he told Nori.  “Yours and Dori’s both.”

 

Nori shrugged.

 

“Maybe,” he said.  “But I wouldn’t have said a word if you hadn’t first.  So I say again:  look at what you have done.”  He smiled over his shoulder at Dwalin as he came to stand behind him.  “I think I saw Thorin in there just now.  Not the mad king, just Thorin Oakenshield.  I hope he stays.”

 

Ori smiled wistfully.  He hoped so too.  He looked around the room.  Most Dwarves seemed to feel as he did:  shocked, confused, hopeful…  His eye stopped on Kili, who stood slightly apart from the crowd of Dwarves.  He was biting his lip and looking down at the floor.  Every other Dwarf in the room was encouraged by Thorin’s about face, but Kili was worried.  After a moment he spun on his heel and left the room as well. 

 

Ori sighed.

 

“Nori, will you find out where we’re assigned; and I’ll meet you back here in twenty minutes?” he asked.  “I promise I won’t be long.”

 

“Sure,” Nori replied.  “Likely it’ll take that long just to work out a plan for the search.  But wherever you’re going, don’t be too long about it.  We’ve wasted enough time waiting for Thorin to come to his senses.”  Ori nodded, and with a last hug for Dori, hurried after Kili.  If he had to sit on him, he was going to convince Kili to tell him what was going on.

 

But by the time he navigated through the crowded room to the exit, Kili was out of sight.  Ori frowned.  Where would Kili have gone?  His room?  Was there another place Kili liked to go when he wanted to think?  Ori felt his lip quirk at the thought.  He loved Kili; but the type to ponder, he was not.  Ori was actually glad of it.  Thorin’s dark brooding would have been wrong on lighthearted Kili.  But now Ori didn’t know which way to go.  Finally he decided to go to the right, towards the mountain’s exterior.  If Kili had gone deeper in, there were too many possibilities; Ori would never find him—especially when he had promised to return to the council room in twenty minutes.  But if Kili had gone this way, Ori had a chance to catch up with him.

 

He didn’t find Kili.  He found Thorin.

 

Ori had thought that perhaps Kili might have gone to the gate in an attempt to avoid other Dwarves, but clearly he had guessed incorrectly.  When he saw Thorin standing there instead of Kili, he hung back.  He did not want the Dwarf king to see him.  But perhaps he need not have worried; Thorin faced west out the gate, overlooking the vast expanse of mountainside falling away across the sunlit plain to the gloomy Mirkwood along the distant horizon.   He seemed completely lost in thought, although his eyes never left that far prospect.  After a moment, Ori quietly crept away.

 

He tried several other places he thought Kili might have gone, including his room (there was no answer to his knock), before he had to return to the council room.  Though there were only a third of the Dwarves who had filled the room before, those who remained seemed to be those who had chosen to search for Bofur rather than the Arkenstone, and the space crackled with a tense excitement.  Though the task before them was a serious one, Ori thought these Dwarves were eagerly anticipating the opportunity to begin it.

 

Nori had arranged it so that he would search with Dori, while Ori would be paired with Dwalin.  When Ori saw this, he tried to subtly pull Nori aside.

 

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he said.  “We could switch partners.  I’m fine with Dori.  And you and Dwalin don’t have much private time.”  Nori smiled at him fondly.

 

“Dwalin and I get plenty of private time,” he replied.  “And I know you _can_ handle Dori, but it’s an older brother’s priviledge to shelter his baby brother whenever he can.”  Ori pulled a face.

 

“When do I get to be the older brother?” he grumbled.  “And did you ever think that maybe younger brothers don’t want to be sheltered all the time?”  At that, Nori threw back his head and laughed aloud.

 

“I think you’ve met my older brother,” he teased.  “What do you think he was like before you came along to distract him?”

 

“Not nearly so bad is my guess,” Ori said.  He certainly was _not_ whining.  “I think he gave you up as hopeless and decided he’d manage me far closer from the start.”  Nori grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

 

“Could be,” he said.  “So I’ll take a little of the chaperoning that needs to be done now to make up for all the extra chaperoning you had to put up with growing up.  This isn’t exactly the time for cuddling, anyway.”  He tweaked Ori’s nose and moved away to confer one last time with Balin before they headed down to the mines to begin the search.

 

Ori had not been down to the levels where Erebor’s mines began.  He didn’t know what he had expected, but whatever it had been was surpassed by the reality.  Hundreds of mines ran straight down into the bowels of the mountain, ranging in diameter from some tunnels small enough that if Ori could have stood in the middle, he could have stretched out his arms to touch the opposing walls, to enormous craters, so wide across that a light held on one side of the expanse couldn’t illumine the other edge.

 

Each pair of Dwarves was assigned one mine to begin to explore.  Bifur explained the procedure they would use to search in his choppy Iglishmêk.  Ori did not know Bofur’s dour cousin well and his Iglishmêk was rusty to say the least, but he followed as best he could and Dwalin explained what Ori hadn’t understood.  After receiving Bifur’s  terse directions, the paired Dwarves marked the mineshafts they would scout for signs of the lost miner; and the search began.

 

The search for Bofur was both more and less frustrating than the search for the Arkenstone.  Bofur could not be hidden in a crevice or secret compartment the size of a Dwarf’s hand the way the Heart of the Mountain could, so they could cover ground more quickly.  On the other hand, there was far more ground that must be covered.  Erebor’s mines were complex puzzles of tunnels that extended deep into the heart of the Lonely Mountain.  A very few mines had hoists or engines that could be used to speed travel up and down mine shafts, but most of these were in some state of disrepair.  Only a few could still be used.  Most mines had ladders extending down into their depths; but after so many years, the durability of these ladders varied.  Some mines, instead of ladders, had anchors set at the lip that could be used to secure ropes the Dwarves could use to descend into the mine.  The shaft Ori and Dwalin had been assigned did have a ladder, but it was unstable due to dry rot, so they set a piton for each of them at the mouth of the hole and abseiled down into the mine.

 

As they went down the main shaft of the mine they had been assigned, they encountered many offshoots branching out of the primary tunnel, and each one must be explored before they could continue on.  For the first stretch of their climb down into the mine Ori and Dwalin had chatted and teased each other rather as if it were a holiday, they were so glad to be relieved from the Arkenstone search; but by the time Ori estimated it was mid-afternoon, they continued on grimly, seeking only to make as much progress as they could.

 

At the end of the day as they trudged back to the council room, Ori asked Dwalin what he had begun to fear once he had seen for himself the extent of the mines.

 

“It’ll be a miracle if we find him, won’t it?” he asked.  “Without knowing which mine he went down, searching every mile of them…it’s not possible, is it?”  Dwalin didn’t answer right away.  When he did, his voice was heavy.

 

“Not with the numbers we have,” he said.  “Not if every Dwarf here were turned to the search.  But there’s some chance we’ll find him, so…”  His voice trailed away for a moment before he continued grimly.  “We pray that we’re lucky.”

 

All the searchers, whether for the Arkenstone or for Bofur, gathered together in Thorin’s council room for the evening meal.  It was a far more subdued group that gathered there than any of the previous nights.  Balin and Thorin listened stoically to each of the crews before dismissing them until the following day.

 

Ori, his brothers and Dwalin retired to the ‘Ri home to sit silently together in their common room.  Ori stared unseeing into the fire, thinking about Bofur, vanished into the mines below Erebor five days prior.  What had it been like—what was it like for him, trapped somewhere in that unlit maze?  He had disappeared before the Dwarves had learnt about the theft of the Arkenstone, so he would not know that any search parties looking for him had been delayed until this point.  Did he have any hope that he would be found at all?  How much longer could he survive on whatever food and water he might have carried with him?

 

And he must have been injured in some way, badly enough that he couldn’t make his own way out of the mines.  Perhaps his injuries had already taken his life.

 

As terrible as that would be, Ori thought it might be better than starving to death waiting for a rescue that never came.

 

When he finally retreated to his bed, Ori did not expect to be able to sleep, not with such morbid thoughts in his head.  But his body was exhausted from the physical demands of the day; and he fell quickly into a dreamless sleep that lasted until Dori woke him in the morning, shouting his name up the stairs.

 

On this day, the sixth since the Heart of the Mountain had been stolen, the tension was high again amongst the gathered Dwarves.  Thorin scowled blackly at those who would search for Bofur rather than the Arkenstone, but he tolerated it.  Those Dwarves could be spared from the crews seeking the Arkenstone; for even divided as their labours were, it was expected that the groups searching for the Arkenstone would finish today:  either they would find the stone, or they would have explored every inch of Erebor’s ways looking for it.

 

What would happen if they didn’t find it, no one knew.  

 

Ori and Dwalin were given a different mine to search this second day; Balin and Fili, who had planned the search with Bombur and Bifur, had suggested that it would be better to explore as many mines as possible to a certain depth rather than a lesser number of mines as deep as the hopeful rescuers could go.  Ori could see that attempting to decide between these two options was terribly difficult for Bombur; Bifur’s expression he could not decipher.  In the end, he thought Balin and Fili’s suggestion the shrewdest choice, but he also knew that if it had been one of his brothers…if they had never found him, he would always be afraid that his brother had been trapped just a bit further down one of the shafts they had searched partway before moving on to another mine; the guilt would haunt him the rest of his life.  He hoped it would not be so for Bombur.

 

“Ori?” Dwalin prompted.  “You ready?”  Ori nodded and shook off his macabre thoughts.  What else was there to do but look for Bofur according to what seemed the wisest course?  They couldn’t explore every passage; they must prioritise.  He roped in to his anchor, set his feet at the edge of the mineshaft, and leant backwards into the abyss.

 

They did not find Bofur that day, nor any sign of him.

 

And when they returned to Thorin’s council room, disheartened and weary, it was to learn that the Heart of the Mountain had not been found either.

 

The atmosphere in the room seemed to Ori like nothing so much as the mood that had settled on the Company after Bilbo had left, before the Battle of Five Armies, a taut edginess that came from reeling before a friend’s betrayal and not knowing when the killing would begin.  Few Dwarves remained to report, and those that did soon crept away after they had been heard.  Thorin was nowhere to be seen.  After Dwalin reported—a grim shake of his head all Balin needed—Fili pulled them aside briefly.

 

“Wait,” he said.  “The Iron Hills Dwarves, we’re sending to their beds.  But we thought the Company might stay.  Bombur needs our support; and while Thorin might not admit it so readily, he does as well.”

 

“Where is Thorin?” Dwalin asked.  Fili shook his head in reply.  Exhausted and uneasy, Ori retreated to where the milling Company gathered, leant against the wall, and slid down to sit on the floor.  His head fell onto his knees, his eyes closed, and the quiet susurrus of troubled voices drifted away as he slid into a sort of half-sleep.

 

He roused to the nearby sound of Fili’s hushed conversation with Balin.

 

“Where has he been going then?” Balin was asking.  “If he’s not in his rooms and not in the throne room?”

 

“I don’t know,” Fili said.  “Always, when I’ve sought him out before, it’s been here or either of those two places.  I don’t think he’s been going much of anywhere else in Erebor.”

 

With a little effort, Ori raised his head and blinked sleep away with bleary eyes.

 

“Yesterday I saw him at the Gate,” he said.  Fili and Balin turned to look at him, and he saw what he had missed before; Kili was with them, though he had not spoken.  Ori pushed himself up off the ground.  “I’ll go see if he is there now.”

 

“I’ll go with you,” Kili hurriedly interjected.  “And if he’s not at the Gate; well, maybe we can think of some other places to check.”  Ori pursed his lips in annoyance.  He had already volunteered and he wouldn’t back out now, but he didn’t think it was kind of Kili to manoueuvre to be alone with him when Ori had made it quite clear that he didn’t want Kili anywhere near him.  Nodding curtly to Fili and Balin and ignoring Kili, Ori set out for the Gate.

 

He had not expected that he would be able to leave Kili behind, and he didn’t; Kili closed the short gap between them quickly and was soon walking at Ori’s side.  Ori strode on as fast as he could, hoping that Kili would take the hint; but being Kili, he did not.

 

“How was your day?” he asked, for all the world like Ori had gone out for a jaunt on the mountainside.

 

“How was my day?” Ori sputtered.  “How do you think?  Was your day so carefree, then, that you think mine was a picnic?”  Kili’s resulting frown was puzzled.

 

“Noo,” he said.  “Just making conversation?”

 

“Well you’re awful at it,” Ori groused.

 

“Sorry?” Kili replied doubtfully.  “But you already know I think Bofur’s fine and this is just a big overreaction.  I guess I can see why his brother’s worried, but I think Bofur can handle any mine.”

 

Ori stopped dead and stared at him.

 

“Have you ever been down to the mines, Kili?” he asked.  Kili shrugged.

 

“No,” he said.  “I’ll get there one of these days; just been too busy, I guess.”  Vexed, Ori just looked at him for a long moment, nodded and began to stride to the Gate again.  After a moment, Kili hurried to catch up.  

 

“My search was fruitless as well,” he continued pointedly, “Thanks for asking.  So I guess we both had frustrating days.”  Ori sighed.

 

“It’s not frustration about not finding him, it’s worry,” he said.  “And I can’t fathom why you don’t feel the same worry about _your_ lover, who hasn’t been seen for almost a week now.”

 

“I trust he can take care of himself,” Kili returned stoutly, and then they could see the Gate ahead.

 

Thorin was there, standing tall and solemn, just as Ori had seen him the day before, his eyes focused on the western horizon.  Now that they were here, Ori was glad of Kili’s presence; he was too intimidated by Thorin to feel comfortable interrupting him, but Kili had no such compunction.

 

“Uncle,” he said cheerfully, “what draws you to the Gate?  The Company awaits you in the council room.”  Thorin turned to face them, his visage somber and drawn.

 

“The Company is waiting, is it?” he asked.  “For what purpose?  Do they think it is possible to console me for this loss?”  He looked back over his shoulder at the vista framed by the Gate.  “I have lost too much for any consolation from well-meaning friends,” he said.  He contemplated the expanse of land that stretched out to the west, as far as could ever be seen on this cold, bright day, before turning and leading the way back to his council chamber.  He didn’t speak, and Ori and Kili followed his example.

 

Just before the room’s entrance, Kili grabbed Ori’s arm to hold him back a moment.

 

“You’ll see I’m right,” he told Ori.  “Bofur is fine; he is perfectly safe and he will return when he is ready.  And even the disappearance of the Arkenstone—it hasn’t been as bad as you thought it would be, has it?  Things will be fine.”  Ori narrowed his eyes as fury rose inside him, and he shook his head.

 

“Kili…” he said.  “I have often valued your optimism in the past, but in this you are being an idiot.”  Kili opened his mouth to protest, and Ori had had enough.  He took Kili’s hand and began to drag him away from the council room.

 

“If you want to get me alone, all you have to do is ask,” Kili joked.

 

“Shut up,” Ori snapped.  “We’re going to go have a look at the mines.”

 

“What?  Why?” Kili asked.  “Isn’t the Company waiting for us?”

 

“Everyone is waiting for Thorin, not us,” Ori replied.  “And this isn’t going to take long, anyway.”  Ori suspected it would take long enough that Nori and Dori would notice his absence, and Fili and perhaps Balin would notice Kili’s; but it was either show Kili what the mines were like or hit him.  

 

Ori was still keeping the second option on the table, though.

 

He set a brisk pace down through the city to where the mines began, but Kili had no difficulties matching his stride.  Miraculously he complied with Ori’s request that he be quiet.  Finally they reached the point where the mines began.  Ori continued walking.

 

“We’re passing by the mines,” Kili said.  “Are we looking for a specific one?”

 

“The mines have just begun,” Ori replied.  He continued walking in silence, and Kili trailed along beside him.  After about ten minutes, Kili spoke again.

 

“Okay, so there are a lot of mines,” he said.  “Good point.  I still don’t think that means Bofur’s in danger.”  Ori tightened his grip on Kili’s hand and didn’t respond.  They were perhaps halfway to the cluster of mines he wanted.

 

Finally the roof above them opened up into a wide chamber whose high ceiling soared above them, higher even than the throne room’s towering height.  Ori stopped so that Kili could survey the immense space.

 

Kili whistled.  “Okay, really a lot of mines.  Dozens and dozens of mines.  I’m still not seeing the problem.”  Ori sighed.

 

“This is only the closest of at least fifty chambers like this that delve into the mountain in this way,” he said.  “And the paths connecting them are strewn with mines as well, just like the one we traversed to reach this point.”  Kili only looked at him, and Ori shook his head in frustration.  “Kili, there are _thousands_ of mines down here.  _Thousands_.  Now come on, and I’ll show you what they’re like.”

 

First he led Kili to a medium-sized mine that had been outfitted with a hoist.

 

“You don’t see many of those in the Blue Mountains,” Kili said, whistling in appreciation.  “That’s nice.”  He gave the crank a desultory pull, then exerted himself more when the gears didn’t respond.

 

“Rusted together,” Ori told him.  “So it’s useless until someone can take a look and see if it can be salvaged.  But let’s look at another one.”  He led the way into the center of the cavern, to the edge of the immense quarry that dropped out of sight into the mountain’s heart.

 

For a long, lovely moment, Kili was speechless.

 

“Mahal,” he breathed when he was able to find words at last.  “Look at that.”

 

“Dwalin told me that these ones start as a wide, shallow trench that is excavated slowly until the middle is all scooped out and it’s deep enough for ladders; and then they just keep going, extending the ladders as they need to,” Ori said.  “He doesn’t remember a time when a Dwarf could see the bottom of this one, but he showed me one in another cave where if you stand at the edge you can see the bottom, distant as the deepest canyon.  He said he thought they’d dug it another ten feet down from the time when he first saw it, as a child, until Smaug came.”

 

“How many Dwarves would that take?” Kili wondered aloud.  Ori shrugged.

 

“I don’t know,” he answered.  “More than live in the Blue Mountains, I think.”  They  admired the view for a minute or two before Ori pulled Kili over to one of the ladders that descended into the pit.

 

“This is how they went up and down,” he said.  “Here,” he extended his arms and clasped Kili’s wrists tightly.  “Hold onto my wrists and brace yourself.”  Ori carefully stepped back and down onto the ladder.  The first and second rungs held; but the third rung broke under Ori’s weight and then the fourth as he fell, and gravity pulled Ori down into the great mine until Kili dug in and jerked him back over the side of the quarry.

 

“ _Mahal_ , Ori,” he exclaimed.  “ Are you crazy?  What was _that_?”

 

“The ladders are old,” Ori said matter-of-factly.  “Broken, rotted…  Maybe a third of them are usable, and it’s not easy to tell which by looking.”  He stood up and dusted the worst of the dirt off his clothes before taking Kili’s hand again.  “Just one more, and then we can go back.”

 

Ori led Kili to the mineshaft he and Dwalin had explored earlier that day.  It was one of the smaller mines, and Kili was initially curious but unimpressed.

 

“This one doesn’t have a ladder or a hoist,” he said.  “They used ropes?”

 

“Yes,” Ori agreed.  He pointed out the piton Dwalin had used to hold his weight for the descent.  “See, that’s where Dwalin was anchored.”  Kili nodded.

 

“This one doesn’t seem to be in bad shape,” he said.  “A proper rope could get you a decent ways down, and I guess they’d add an engine if they dug far enough that ropes wouldn’t do.”

 

“No, Dwalin said this shaft is too small for an engine,” Ori replied.  “But this is what I want you to see.”  He walked around to the other side of the mine and scuffed his foot along the wide crack there.  “This?  This is where my anchor was.”

 

Kili’s gaze shot up to meet Ori’s, his eyes wide and round.

 

“What?” he asked disbelievingly.  Ori nodded.

 

“Dwalin caught me,” he said.  “Or I’d be dead at the bottom of this mine.”  He gestured to the wide expanse surrounding them.  “Now tell me, Kili, in which of these excellent mines do you think Bofur is?  Which one might he have chosen to explore?”

 

Kili rubbed his face with his hands.

 

“Okay,” he said.  “You’re right; I didn’t get it.  It’s all a lot bigger and more dangerous than I thought it was.”  He paused to glare stubbornly at Ori.  “But I still trust Bofur to be cautious and to know what he’s doing.”

 

“And it’s a good thing he had backup, in case something went wrong,” Ori said.

 

Kili’s gaze turned hard and resentful, and then he spun on his heel and headed back the way they had come, up into Erebor.  Ori almost had to run to catch up with him.  He didn’t try to say anything else; he knew Kili needed time to mull over what he’d seen.  Kili might not have a patch on Thorin, but he did have a Durin’s temper; he’d fume for a bit before he got over it.  So Ori was surprised when Kili stopped him before they entered the council chamber and pulled him into a tight embrace.

 

“Mahal bless Dwalin for being there,” he whispered into Ori’s ear.  “If he hadn’t caught you; if you’d fallen…”  He simply held Ori for another long moment before he gripped Ori’s shoulders and pushed back enough to look him steadily in the eye.  “I…  Do you know what you mean to me?”  With difficulty Ori shoved down the threatening tears and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Less than your lover, I would assume,” he said brusquely.  He tried to pull out of Kili’s hold, but Kili’s hands only tightened; Ori would have bruises where he held him.

 

“Don’t say that,” Kili growled.  “Never say that.  You—only Fili and Thorin are as important to me as you are.”  Ori stared at him before nodding slowly, and Kili crushed him in his arms again.  When he let him go at last, Kili stepped away from him slowly.  “Remember it,” he added.

 

As he followed Kili into Thorin’s council chamber, the Company was gathered in two clusters which seemed to be arguing with each other; but the discussion broke off when they entered.

 

“Finally!” Dori exclaimed and rushed over to Ori.  He grabbed Ori’s upper arms just where Kili had, and Ori had to struggle not to grimace in pain.

 

“Hello, Dori,” he said in as soothing a voice as he could.  “Sorry that took so long.”

 

“Where have you been?” Dori cried, and he shook Ori a little too hard.  “Thorin’s been back an hour or more, and he said you were right behind him!”

 

“I took Kili down and showed him the mines,” Ori said calmly.  Nori had caught up to Dori by this point, and he firmly pried Dori’s hands off of Ori’s arms.

 

“With Kili?” he asked sceptically.

 

“Kili needed to see,” Ori said.  “So now he knows.”

 

Kili agreed from where Fili had captured him in a headlock and was roughly mussing his hair, and Thorin watched while the corner of his mouth twitched up into a bare wisp of a smile.

 

“I did need to see it,” he said, and pushed out of Fili’s trap at last.  He stood and faced Bombur solemnly.

 

“I’m sorry, Bombur,” he said.  “I didn’t understand what it was like down there, and now I do.  But even so, I have hope that Bofur will return safely.  He knows what he’s doing, and he’s not reckless either.  He’ll be back with us before you know it.”

 

Bombur smiled wanly at Kili as he nodded in acceptance of his apology.  Kili grinned brightly at him, but a sober silence fell over the Company nonetheless.

 

“Did we miss dinner?” Ori asked into the quiet pause.  “Because I didn’t get lunch either, and I’m hungry.”  At that the Company smiled and laughed, even Bombur, which (while Ori _was_ hungry) had been his true goal.

 

“You haven’t,” Balin answered fondly.  “Come on then; it’ll be like old times.”

 

And indeed, as they gathered round the table, it was reminiscent of many meals they had shared on the journey from the Blue Mountains; besides Bofur, they were only missing the scent of a campfire and a sweetly smiling, fussy Hobbit.  As he glanced around the group, he thought he was not the only one who thought wistfully of Bilbo.

 

He wondered if Bilbo’s leg had healed, and if he had begun his long journey home to the Shire.  He looked at Thorin, sitting proudly at the head of the table, and pitied him as only another who had lost his own love can; and he said nothing.

 

After a while, when the food was gone but the ale still flowed and a content mood had fallen over the group, Fili asked Glóin a curious question.

 

“What’s it like?” he asked.  “Being in love, I mean.”

 

“What brought that on, laddie?” Glóin responded quizzically.  Fili shrugged.

 

“I don’t know,” he said.  “I guess I’ve just been thinking about it lately.  I never have, I don’t think.  I don’t know if I’d recognize it if I did fall in love.”  He paused.  “It doesn’t seem like it’s always happy,” he added, with a hesitant glance at his uncle.

 

After a few moments, Glóin spoke into the thoughtful pause that had fallen over the companions.

 

“For me, it was like a shock of cold water,” he said.  “I’d never felt so alive or so uncomfortable before, and then I was both all at the same time.”  He smiled at some far off memory.  “Eventually the shocked feeling faded away, and it was just:  being more alive than I had before I met her.  Still feel that way.”

 

The Company pondered quietly a bit longer, and then it was Bombur’s turn to break the hush.

 

 “It was the opposite for me, I think,” he said with a melancholy smile.  “We were friends first, and I fell into it so gradually, because we were so comfortable together…  Bofur was the one who told me I was in love.  And when I went to Glíssa, she said, ‘Wait—you didn’t _know_?’”

 

The Company laughed merrily at that; and Bifur added something in Iglishmêk that made the older members of the Company whoop and tease, but Ori didn’t catch it.  He was not going to ask either of his brothers or Dwalin to explain; he’d never hear the end of it.  Maybe Balin would explain it to him later.

 

He thought for him, it had been a bit like Glóin and a bit like Bombur; he had felt so alive when he was with Kili, and he had slid deeper and deeper before he comprehended how badly he’d fallen.  He came out of his rumination to realise that he had missed Balin’s explanation entirely.  He rather regretted that, but he was glad he had become aware again when he did; for Nori was the next one to speak.  His voice was very unlike him, a bit unsteady and flustered; but he continued without pause, looking somewhere vaguely in the direction of Dwalin’s boots.

 

“When we lived in Belegost, I traveled to the Grey Havens a few times, for—well, never mind what for.  But I’ll never forget the first time I saw the Belegaer, the Great Western Sea,” he said.  “And for me, it’s been like that sea:  vast, unending and unknowable; with a depth and a life below the surface that you’ll never fully explore, even if you immerse yourself in it.”  Shyly (shyly!) he raised his gaze to meet Dwalin’s eyes, warm on Nori when usually they were so guarded.  “I wanted to run off the edge of the dock and jump right in.  I wanted to sail into the middle of it, so far out that I could see only water no matter which direction I looked.  I wanted to dive in and wrap the warm waters around me like a blanket.  I never wanted to leave.  I still don’t.  I won’t, not ever, not by my choice.”

 

Ori averted his eyes and blinked back happy tears for his brother.  _Oh, Nori_!  How wonderful it must be, to love like that; and to know one is loved in return!  He looked across the circle to meet Kili’s gaze with wet eyes and a trembly smile, and Kili opened his mouth as if to speak; but Dwalin spoke first in his gruff voice.  Ori turned away to listen to his brother’s lover—his brother’s _love_ —to learn what he felt when he was with Nori.

 

“I’m not a fanciful sort of Dwarf,” Dwalin began, “and I’m not given to worrying about such things much.  But…”  He paused for a moment.  “But lately—I have been thinking on it a lot lately.”  His eyes burned bright as gems as he looked steadily at Nori; and when Ori peeked at Nori, his brother was smiling like a Dwarfling with his first hammer.  “When I saw Smaug again, that’s when I recognized it, what I was feeling.”  Dwalin turned to smile fondly at Fili.  “It’s scary, maybe; and you know that’s a hard thing for a warrior like me or you to say.  But for me…it’s like _being_ the Dragon, like having a fire burning in the heart of you, giving you strength.”  He looked to Nori again, and his gaze held all the heat and passion of his words.  “There’s nothing like it, nothing greater than it.  And that’s the scary bit, knowing that what you have burning inside you is strong enough to have incinerated other Dwarves before you; and that few escape it without a bit of charring, a few scars to show for it…  But at the same time, thinking that it would be worth it, if it should end that way; that the time you’re warmed by it is worth any cost.  That now that you’ve known it, you’d never want to live without it.”

 

Ori wanted to pull Nori and Dwalin both into his arms and hug them until they couldn’t breathe.  They gave him such happiness and hope, just by being who they were with each other.  He leant against Dori, sitting next to him, and smiled to himself, and this time he couldn’t hold back his happy tears.  Nori and Dwalin’s love—it was strong enough, beautiful enough, to warm those around them as well as themselves.  Ori let himself bask in it.  His gaze traveled the gathered Dwarves, and he thought they felt the same; perhaps they didn’t all know Dwalin and Nori were together, but no heart was left untouched by their words.  Thorin alone seemed distant, but there was something to his guise that made Ori think it was a mask for his inner turmoil.  He wondered what it was like for Thorin, hearing his friend refer, even obliquely, to his painful loss—especially in contrast to Dwalin’s intensity of emotion.  Feeling somewhat ashamed for speculating so about Thorin and Bilbo’s ill-fated love, Ori turned away to meet Balin’s eyes; and he laughed quietly to see Balin unashamedly wiping tears away just as Ori was.  For a while, the Company let themselves just sit and bask in the warmth of such love.

 

And then Kili spoke.

 

“It was slow coming on for me, like it was for Bombur,” he said quietly, not looking up to meet anyone’s eyes.  “It was like…it was like I was looking at myself in a mirror, and I started to see myself through another’s eyes—not as the Dwarf I am, but as the Dwarf I could be, if I were my best self.  It’s—it’s like taking aim at a longer shot than I’ve ever made before and making it.  It’s standing by my brother’s side in battle, protecting his back; and when the battle is over, knowing it was my sword that kept him alive.”  He looked up then, to smile affectionately at Fili; and then his gaze drifted to Thorin.  “It’s making my uncle laugh out loud, so hard he cries; when mostly he hardly ever smiles.”  Thorin did smile then, his fond smile that was only ever directed at Fili or Kili; and even if it was a small smile and Thorin’s eyes were subdued, Kili returned it with a tangible pleasure before biting his lip and looking down at the ground again.  “It’s not easy.  It’s doing what I know I have to do even when I can tell it’s going to be the hardest thing I ever did.  Even when it means I’m going to pay for doing it.  And I’m not always very good at being that Dwarf I see in the mirror.”  Slowly Kili’s dark eyes rose to meet Ori’s, and he seemed to speak straight to him.  “I don’t know if I’ll ever be entirely that Dwarf I want to be, but—in the moments when I am, when I can be him—I’d give away the whole world for just a moment more like that.  So I can’t stop trying, because it’s so good when it works.  Because the one I love deserves nothing less than my best self.”

 

The assembled members of Thorin’s Company, and Ori knew he was among them, stared at Kili as if none of them had ever seen him before.  Ori suspected the rest of them felt the same shock he did.  Who knew that Kili had that in him—that he felt like that, that he could express it that way?  If he hadn’t already loved Kili with all his heart, Ori thought he would have lost it to him in that moment, after hearing Kili explain what love was like for him.  He held Kili’s intense gaze solemnly, not looking away; and he felt like he was making a sacred promise as he did.

 

It was Balin who broke the spell, and he said almost exactly what Ori had been thinking; well, part of what Ori had been thinking.

 

“If I’d known you could do that, lad, I’d have been some bit tougher on you in your lessons,” he snorted.  “I’ve a mind to set you some of those essays you were supposed to write for me when you were younger, just to see what your ‘best Dwarf’ can do with ‘em.”  Startled, Kili looked askance at Balin; but after a moment he snickered.

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be very good at writing, Balin,” he said with a wry grin.  “It’s trying to be my best self, not Ori’s best self.”

 

Balin snorted.  “If Ori’s _worst_ self had turned in some of those assignments, it’d still be better than most of what I got out of you.”  But even as he said this, he smiled at Kili.  “But you’ll do, lad; you’ll do.”

 

The Company dispersed not long after that; and as a whole, despite all their problems, they seemed more at peace than they had been for a long time.  Ori lingered a bit behind Dwalin and his brothers; and when he saw Kili come out into the hall with Fili’s arm around his shoulders, he couldn’t help but stop and smile at him.  Kili looked at him for a long moment before turning to whisper something in Fili’s ear, and then Fili was limping away leaning on Óin’s shoulder and Kili was standing in front of Ori.

 

“What you said,” Ori faltered over his words but pushed himself to continue.  If Kili, who had no confidence in his ability to shape words to his favour, could speak so, the least Ori could do was try.  “I’ve never heard you speak like that before.  I thought it was beautiful, what you said.”  He paused, took a deep breath, and continued determinedly.  “Bofur is very lucky, to be loved like that.”

 

Kili stepped just a small step closer to Ori, just enough that Ori felt nervous without really knowing why.

 

“Do you think so?” he asked softly.  “Did you think I was talking about Bofur?”

 

Ori tilted his head in puzzlement and frowned at Kili.

 

“Who else?” he asked.  Kili smiled at him, and it was very strange to see Thorin’s small quirk of the lips on Kili’s expressive face.

 

“Who else indeed?” he returned.  His lips still wore that same small smile, but his eyes were serious.  “Ori…”  But Ori’s attention had been caught by something else, and he grasped Kili’s elbow insistently.

 

“Kili,” he murmured low, so that the few Dwarves who remained couldn’t hear him.  “Where is Thorin going?  Isn’t his room the other way, near yours?”

 

Kili turned to watch Thorin slowly walking, all alone, away from his council chambers.

 

“Yes, his room’s the other way,” he replied distractedly.  He met Ori’s eyes again with regret.  “I think I’d better follow him, Ori; I’m sorry.”

 

“No, I understand,” Ori said.  “You must be worried about him.”

 

Kili shrugged.

 

“Yes and no,” he said.  “But—I have to go; I’m sorry.”

 

“I know,” Ori replied, then paused for a moment before he continued.  “Kili, where do you think he’s going?  There’s not much that way.”  As they watched, the path Thorin walked curved; and the Dwarf king was soon out of sight.  Kili took two steps in his direction before turning back to Ori helplessly.

 

“Go on,” Ori encouraged.  “We’ll talk again tomorrow.  You can tell me what happened then.”  Kili nodded and took two more steps away before he hesitated again.

 

“I have to go; I think he’s going back to the Gate,” he said in a rush, before turning and running after his uncle, the mad Dwarf king of Erebor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laughingxoutxloud94 has made the most ridiculously perfect gif for Nori and Dwalin, using their words regarding their love for each other from this chapter of "Where Lies the Heart." It is lovely and warm and inspiring, and it makes you feel just like I think Ori means when he says their love is so strong everyone can warm themselves at its fire.
> 
> There may have been dancing. And flailing. Dancing and flailing together.
> 
> GO LOOK AT IT NOW YOU CRAZY CATS: 
> 
> http://laughxoutxloud94.tumblr.com/post/75367483134/nori-and-dwalin-are-a-more-mature-love-a-love-in


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week after the Arkenstone disappeared, it is still nowhere to be found, resulting in just a little rise in tension; and Kili's behaviour continues to perplex Ori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe a debt to ManhattanMom for this chapter; at one point I needed to bridge a gap in action--from where the characters were to a particular line from which the rest of the chapter flowed, and she helped me figure out what should happen in that gap. So: my thanks!
> 
> Also, you may have noticed the chapter count has gone up; we're nearly there, but there's too much left to include in this part...

 ***

Despite the Company’s camaraderie the previous evening, the mood as they gathered again the next morning was sombre.  No one seemed to know what the day would bring.

 

Thorin and Kili were two of the last to enter the council chamber.  Both appeared to be tired but neither seemed willing to acknowledge that fact.  Ori tried to catch Kili’s eye but could not at first; Kili seemed to be attempting to remonstrate with Thorin about something, while Thorin appeared coldly dismissive of his arguments.  Finally Kili shook his head, bowed formally to his uncle and retreated into the crowd.

 

Ori pursed his lips uneasily.  Thorin’s demeanour seemed to have reverted somewhat.  He did not treat Kili so when he was in his right mind.

 

Thorin joined Balin and Fili in a quiet but intense conference around the table where the map of Erebor had been displayed for the past week, new portions marked off each day until yesterday when the search was completed.  The entire city had been searched, but not a trace of the Heart of the Mountain had been found.

 

Ori sidled through the crowd to where Kili stood, concern in his eyes as he watched his uncle and brother conferring with Balin.

 

“Was he?” Ori asked.  “At the Gate, I mean?”

 

Kili glanced quickly up at Thorin to confirm his attention was elsewhere before nodding.

 

“What’s more, he stayed all night,” he told Ori in a low whisper.  “I waited with him and I dozed off a few times, but every time I woke he was still there, still staring out at the night sky.  I don’t have any idea what he was looking for.  And when the sun rose, he watched until its light shone over the whole of the Mirkwood and had just begun to kiss the plain, and then he turned his back on it and came here.  And he said not a word to me the whole time.”

 

Ori winced.

 

“I know,” Kili said.  “I tried to get him to talk to me the whole way here, but he was—well, you saw him, didn’t you?  He went all over King under the Mountain on me, and I don’t have any pull with _him_.”  He huffed in ironic laughter.  “My Uncle Thorin, he likes me.  He practically raised me.  He’ll talk to me about almost anything, really.  The King under the Mountain?  Not so much.”

 

“I’m sorry, Kili,” Ori said.  “I—I know how hard that is.  But…well, I’ve seen that happening lately; sometimes it seems it’s Thorin talking and and sometimes it’s the King.  It’s good to see Thorin again; I had thought he had disappeared entirely into the King.  It’s just…difficult, not knowing who you’ll get.”

 

“He has been himself a bit more lately, hasn’t he?” Kili asked with a wan half-smile.  “Maybe I just assumed…”  He shook his head.  “It’s fine; it’ll be fine.  We just need to get through this and it will be fine.”

 

“You say that a lot,” Ori told him wryly.  “I don’t know if you’re trying to convince me or yourself.”

 

“Bit of both, probably,” Kili said, his smile self-deprecating.  He sighed and straightened, nudging Ori with his elbow.  “Look out; here we go.”

 

Ori turned.  Thorin, Balin and Fili had indeed stood to face the gathered Dwarves.  Ori frowned; he didn’t like the look of the grim masks Balin and Fili wore, and he couldn’t read Thorin’s face at all.  It struck him that perhaps Kili had said more than he knew:  perhaps Thorin Oakenshield and Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain—perhaps they were almost like two entities, contending within Thorin’s mind, grappling with each other for control, and the prize would be Thorin’s soul.

 

He snorted at himself.  _A bit fanciful this morning, wasn’t he?_   And yet…he conceived he could see both when he looked at Thorin, the king and the hero-leader both, as if a shift in the light brought one or the other more or less into view.

 

“The Heart of the Mountain was stolen one week ago, and it has not yet been found,” Thorin declared intimidatingly.  “Until it _has_ been found, we will continue to search for it.  We will not pause to rest.  We will not cease looking until it has been found.  From this moment on, you will eat, breathe, _live_ to hunt the Arkenstone.”

 

“I thought that’s what we were doing already,” Ori heard someone in the crowd mutter.  He thought it might have been Glóin, but he wasn’t sure and he wasn’t going to direct Thorin’s attention to the sceptic by turning to look.

 

“We’ve searched the entire city,” Dwalin said, his tone of voice carefully neutral.  “And it _has_ been a week, Thorin.”

 

“His Majesty believes the stone may have been moved from its original hiding place to another secret location in an area that was searched earlier,” Balin replied tactfully.  “We will search Erebor again, every inch of the city, beginning today.”

 

The gathered Dwarves erupted into furious protest.

 

“Silence!” Thorin roared.  “This is my birthright, handed down to me from my grandfather to my father, and I will not relent until it rests in my hands once more!”

 

“It could be anywhere, Thorin,” Glóin spoke up, confirming Ori’s earlier suspicions about the mutinous murmur he had heard earlier.  “I think you have to consider that it may be gone.  In a week?  Chances are it’s not even in the mountain anymore.  It could be anywhere from the Ered Mithrin to the Sea of Rhûn.”

 

Fili shook his head in calm disagreement.  “Though I am uncertain we will find the Arkenstone at this point, I don’t think it’s possible for it to have been removed from the mountain,” he said.  “Guards watch the approach to Erebor day and night in all directions.  No one can reach the mountain without being seen at least two days in advance; by the same token, no one could leave without that departure being witnessed.  None have left the mountain since the Heart of the Mountain disappeared.  _None_.”

 

Glóin shook his head but didn’t argue further.

 

“I say good riddance,” Nori said tartly.  “Already it’s caused more trouble than it’s worth, and it’s still causing trouble.”

 

“Do you think so, _thief_?” Thorin’s voice was threatening, a vast avalanche of rock poised to crush them all.  “Do not dare to say it—no, not even to _think_ it.  It is worth more than one such as you could possibly know.”

 

“Oh, we all know how much it’s worth to _you_ ,” Nori shot back.  “But none of the rest of us are _stark raving mad_!”

 

 _Oh, Mahal help us._   Ori could _feel_ every Dwarf in the crowded room freeze in shock.  They had been so concerned that Dori might endanger himself or another Dwarf; and Nori had been so responsible, so steady in his care for their older brother.  Even Ori had been more impulsive than Nori lately.  He would not have thought that of all of them, Nori would be the ‘Ri brother who sunk them into trouble like this.

 

Thorin drew himself up to his full, intimidating height and moved forward menacingly until he stood toe to toe with Nori, who maintained his defiantly challenging gaze despite Thorin’s unspoken threat.  Ori’s limbs were weak with fright for his brother—for both his brothers, as he could see that Dwalin’s grip on Dori’s arm was trembling as he exerted all his strength to hold him back even as he whispered furiously in Dori’s ear.  Nor could he imagine what this was like for Dwalin:  his lover, confronting his friend, the king who commanded his loyalty.  

 

Nori and Thorin glared at each other for what seemed an eternal moment to Ori, and then Thorin spoke, and the avalanche fell.

 

“Balin,” he said.  “Have this Dwarf taken into custody until the Arkenstone has been found.  We will decide his punishment then.”

 

Balin sighed heavily before reluctantly signaling two of the Iron Hills Dwarves to step forward to arrest Nori.  Dori roared a wordless protest, and Ori sped to his side and clasped his hands across Dori’s mouth.  They could not afford for him to erupt now.

 

“I know you don’t like to hear it, Thorin,” Balin said, his manner carefully deferential despite his words of dissent, “but it’s cruel to hold him indefinitely; and we have failed to find the Arkenstone.  If we never do…”

 

“We have failed thus far because we have clearly trusted where we should not have,” Thorin stated, still staring chillingly at Nori.  “But though we are betrayed, we will discover the culprit and bring him to justice.”  He turned to Balin.  “There _are_ still some places in Erebor we have not searched; but we will remedy that fault now, beginning with the house the ‘Ri family has appropriated.”

 

“You cannot think they have done this!” Balin protested.  “They are members of the Company!  If you cannot trust their loyalty to you, you can trust nothing and no one!”

 

“I do not,” Thorin asserted distantly.  “I will trust no one now, not even you, Balin.  Gather your Dwarves for the search.  We begin now.”

 

Shaking his head in protest, Balin nevertheless began to signal the Dwarves of the Company to come forward.  Ori was furious; they were the ones who had been betrayed, by a king for whom they had risked everything.  But he was grateful for this much; if they must be treated as criminals and their privacy exposed, at least Balin had chosen the Company to witness it instead of strangers from the Iron Hills.

 

The procession to the ‘Ri home was silent and sombre.  Even Thorin came, as if he thought the Company would conspire against him in his absence; though he walked aloof and apart from the rest of them.

 

When they reached their home, Ori and Dori stood stiffly in the common room while some members of the Company stood by as uneasy and unwilling guards; and the rest of them fanned out through the house.  Cautiously Fili approached Ori and Dori.  Ori noted that Thorin’s heir need not lean on a Dwarf for support any longer, but instead used a wooden crutch as an aid for balancing.  Detachedly he wondered at himself that he noticed such a thing at this time; but he felt all of this at a remove, a defence against the bitterness and wounded resentment that overwhelmed him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Fili murmured.  “You must know that we all—the rest of us—we trust you.  But I don’t know how to stop him, and I can’t—“

 

“I understand,” Ori said stoically, staring straight ahead.

 

“I—he is my uncle and my king, and I owe him my loyalty,” Fili continued wretchedly.  “If I were not his heir—“

 

Ori thawed slightly and turned to face Fili.

 

“I _do_ understand,” he said.  “You must be more circumspect; you cannot defy him without treason.”

 

Fili nodded miserably and silently waited with them as their home was searched, showing his solidarity in the only way he could.

 

Not two minutes later, Kili appeared in the common room, perfunctorily grabbed Ori’s arm and steered him roughly into the room that Nori and Dwalin shared.  Ori was aware that a few Dwarves followed them, but he was too astonished by the black expression on Kili’s face to note who they were.

 

“That’s Grasper and Keeper,” Kili stated furiously, gesturing to where Dwalin’s axes were mounted on the wall, flanked on either side by a number of Ori’s drawings that he had helped Dwalin frame to give to Nori.

 

 _What_?  Ori stared at him.  _What was this in service of?_

 

“ _Aren’t they_?” Kili insisted.

 

“Yes, they are,” Ori said slowly.  _Why did Kili state the obvious?_

 

“What are they _doing_ there?” Kili challenged.

 

“Most Dwarves like to keep their weapons close to hand,” Ori said, speaking carefully now, as if he were approaching an animal he was trying not to spook.  But despite Ori’s cautious treatment, Kili was not soothed; he crossed his arms and stared belligerently at Ori as if hurt by some heinous perfidy of his.

 

“Dwalin lives _here_ ,” he said tersely.  “He _sleeps_ here, in this room, with…” He gestured incomprehensibly at the walls.

 

“He does,” Ori confirmed testily.  “Does this have a _point_ , Kili?”

 

Kili glared, his mien as thunderous as a young Thorin.

 

“No,” he said, his voice—every line of his body!—livid.  “No point at all.”

 

He stormed out of the room and Ori followed in irritated bemusement.

 

“What was _that_ all about?” Ori demanded.

 

Kili turned on him like a cornered wolf.

 

“Dwalin!  _Dwalin lives here_!”  he shouted.  “You don’t deny it!  You have no shame at all!” 

 

“Why would I deny it?” Ori replied hotly.  “There is nothing to _be_ ashamed of!  I like Dwalin!  I’m proud of Dwalin!  I’m glad to have him here!  I would be pleased and honoured should he someday join our house!”

 

Kili turned a furious red as he lunged forward to grip Ori’s arms tightly.

 

“Is that why you would say nothing last night, when all the Company described what love was like?” he yelled.  “Do you know how terrible I have felt, how guilty…and all this time…  Have you _ever_ loved me, or was it just a laugh at the expense of your naive dupe?  You act like you are so precious, so tender!  You don’t have any idea what love feels like!”

 

Burning with rage, Ori pulled away from Kili to stare at him combatively.  _How_ ** _dare_** _he_ …

 

“Must I bare my soul yet _again_ when everyone has already seen it?” he screamed.  “Fine!  You would like to know?  For me love has only been humiliation, a ripping away of every one of my defences, leaving me raw and vulnerable and _still alone_!”  Ori’s chest heaved as he panted from pure fury and freshly wounded pride.

 

“Liar!” Kili shouted.  “What a fool I have been!  Your pretty face hides a viper’s heart!”

 

From where he stood by the fire, Dori spun around, his attention drawn by Kili and Ori’s quarrel.  He took one look at Ori’s face, seized the poker from its stand by the fire and attacked Kili with a terrifying roar.

 

“No!  Dori!” Ori cried as he sprang forward, but he could tell he would not be fast enough; why was he _never_ fast enough?  Ori could see it writ on Dori’s face:  he meant to kill Kili, right here in the midst of the Company with his brother and his uncle the king as witnesses, and Ori was helpless to stop him.  

 

But though he was not fast enough, Fili was.  A fraction of an instant after Dori’s hand raised the poker, Fili surged forward, tackling his brother to the floor and taking the full force of Dori’s blow on his back.

 

Ori darted around Fili and Kili sprawled on the ground to push Dori back from the two brothers as best he could.  Dwalin and Bombur already had Dori’s arms twisted behind him, but he shouted and struggled against their hold nonetheless.

 

“How dare you, you hypocritical ass!” he shouted, his face flushed and wrathful.  “Dunderhead!  Simple-minded minger!  Ori’s always been too good for you!”

 

Ori could feel the shocked stares of the Company on his back; at least, the stares of those who weren’t trying to help him prevent Kili’s murder.

 

“Dori!” he hissed.  “Think, Dori!  What are you doing?  No matter how idiotic he is being, he is still the king’s sister-son!”

 

“Let him just _try_ to hide behind the king, the callous puffed-up whelp!” Dori snarled.  “I’ll smash his fickle hide!”

 

“Dori, you can’t!” Ori persisted.  “If you hurt him, we are the ones who will pay!  _Please_ , Dori.”

 

Dori remained tensed against the hands holding him back, but he also stilled as he listened to Ori’s words.

 

“He doesn’t deserve to lick your boots,” he huffed, but he also relaxed and allowed Dwalin to take the poker away from him.

 

At that point Thorin strode forward and pulled Fili to his feet, turning him briskly so that he could inspect Fili’s back as Kili scrambled to his feet as well.

 

“It’s not too bad,” Fili reassured his uncle, though he was wincing at Thorin’s light touch.  “I’ve had worse, that’s for sure.”

 

“I would find that more comforting had you not nearly died less than two months gone,” Thorin growled.  “Anything worse might be life-threatening.”  He stared icily at Dori.  “How _dare_ you lay violent hands on my nephew?”  He placed his hand threateningly on Orcrist’s hilt, and Ori tensed.  Dori had been wrong to assault Kili as he did, but Ori could not stand by if Thorin drew steel on his unarmed brother.  “It seems the ‘loyal’ ‘Ri brothers have been hiding more treachery than we knew.”  Dori glared stonily at Thorin but thankfully didn’t reply, nor did Thorin draw his weapon.  Ori prayed they would come no closer to disaster; Thorin must be made to understand, or Dori…  He could not bear losing Dori to this.

 

“Please, your Majesty—“ he begged.  “It’s just that Kili and I were fighting; Dori wouldn’t have done it otherwise.  He was just trying to protect me.”

 

“By attacking my unarmed nephew’s back!” Thorin roared.  “It was cowardly treachery!”

 

“He is not the only Dwarf in this room who has threatened an unarmed comrade!” Ori snapped.  “And he had more cause!”  He hid his face in his hands.  _Oh, Mahal.  What was he doing?  He was going to get all three of them thrown in an oubliette, forgotten until the mountain crumbled to dust._  

 

He stood alone for what seemed an eon, his chest heaving with fear and fury, until he felt Dwalin’s strong arm come around his shoulders.

 

“It’s time, lad,” he said kindly, in his rough way.  “I know you wanted to hide this if you could, but it’s too late.”

 

Ori nodded, tears welling in his eyes, and allowed his head to slump against Dwalin’s shoulder for one brief moment before he straightened to stand on his own.

 

“I apologise, your Majesty,” he said bleakly.  “I should not have said what I did, and I’ll take responsibility for that.  But Dori, Dori can’t—it’s—“  He turned to face Dori apologetically.  His own face wet, Dori nodded sharply at Ori.  Ori exhaled harshly and turned to face a forbidding Thorin again.  Dwalin was right.  He had to do this.

 

“Dori can’t help it, your Majesty,” he said.  “He can’t control his temper; and he was already feeling protective of me around Kili, so when we were yelling…”  His breath hitched.  “It’s as much my fault; I should have known he wouldn’t be able to stand it, but I was too mad and too caught up in the fight.”

 

“You’re not responsible for your brother’s actions, Ori,” Fili said gently.  “A Dwarf with 150 years behind him is old enough to own what he does.”

 

Ori closed his eyes and pushed back tears, his chest heaving with the effort.

 

“He _can’t_ ,” he repeated.  “It’s because of his injury in the battle.  Somehow the piece of his mind that stops him from doing something impulsive, that gives him a chance to think twice about it—that part is irreparably damaged.”  He met Fili’s gaze, proud and pleading both.  “He’s no more to blame for it than you are for your legs not doing what you want them to do.  But you know your legs will heal, and already you regain your balance.  The healer said Dori might—that it’s likely he’ll never be the same as he was.”

 

The Company’s pity was tangible around them, but Ori—and he thought Dori, too—wanted pity from no one.  All they wanted was to do what they could so that Dori could try to get better at controlling his temper, that Nori and Ori could help shield him and others from its effects…  He had hung his head, but he forced himself to look up that he could meet Thorin’s eyes.  It was no easier for Ori to read Thorin’s thoughts from his impassive face than it had been an hour ago.  He wished he knew who he addressed:  was it Thorin Oakenshield, or the King under the Mountain?  He dropped his eyes again.  Maybe if Nori had been here too; maybe together they could have stopped Dori.  By himself Ori had failed his brother:  the brother who had raised him, the brother who was this way only because he had saved Ori’s life.  And now Dori would suffer the repercussions for that action once again.

 

“An attack such as this has consequences,” Thorin said after a time.

 

“Yes, your Majesty,” Ori replied dutifully.

 

“He cannot be allowed to behave like this,” Thorin grimly added.

 

Ori nodded.  “Yes, your Majesty.

 

“This was murder he aimed to do,” Thorin said.  Ori’s head shot up and he shook his head frantically.  Maybe it had been, but he couldn’t acknowledge that; Thorin would never be able to tolerate it, personally or politically.

 

“No, your Majesty,” he protested.  “You cannot think that!  Dori only wanted to protect me!”

 

Thorin raised an eyebrow.  “Were you under attack?” he asked sardonically.  “Kili’s only weapon was his words.  Do you consider that hurt feelings justify an attack like this?  And whatever his motivation, he must be judged by his actions.  He tried to _kill_ Kili.  I cannot tolerate an attempted murderer to roam Erebor freely.”

 

“ _He is not the only one_!” Ori shouted.  “Will you detain yourself?”

 

“You walk a thin line, scribe,” Thorin stated coldly.

 

“Is there any Dwarf among us who does not?” Ori cried.  “When we don’t know who the king will be from one moment to the next?  When a blow or a gaol sentence awaits any who gainsay him?  When a rock is valued above the life of a loyal and honourable subject?”

 

“ _Enough_!” Thorin shouted.  “You will find yourself joining your brothers in their gaol!  I am your _king,_ and I will not tolerate treason from any one of you.”  Until this point the gathered Company had been staring speechlessly, their pity turned to shock and disbelief, Ori thought.  But now Kili spoke up, and his words were not a condemnation of Dori’s behaviour, but a defence.

 

“No, Uncle,” he pleaded as he moved to stand near Thorin.  Ori thought it was likely mere coincidence that from his new position he shielded Ori from Thorin’s view, but nonetheless he was grateful for the chance that made it so.  Ori was rather appalled with the way he had lambasted Thorin, and he wanted to be out of the king’s sight.  “The things I said to Ori…I think Fili might have pummeled anyone who spoke like that to me.”

 

“I would have,” Fili promptly confirmed.  “Though I probably would have waited until there weren’t so many witnesses.”  He paused to think.  “Probably.  You were pretty rough, Kili; I might not have waited.”

 

“You see?” Kili asked Thorin.  “Shouldn’t he be given leniency?”

 

“Whether or not I might of my own preference choose to be lenient, I cannot be seen to allow such a thing,” Thorin said sternly.  “Nor, I think, would Fili take iron to an unarmed Dwarf’s back.”

 

“Who saw anything?” Kili asked disingenously.  “None but the Company are here.  I’ll wager no one saw a thing.”  Thorin sighed and laid a heavy hand on Kili’s shoulder.

 

“It is not just the one thing, Kili,” he said.  “It is all of it; it is a pattern of disloyalty within this family.”

 

“Is it?” Kili reasoned.  “A Dwarf might be goaded into much by threats to his brother.  And we haven’t found any proof of any involvement in the disappearance of the Arkenstone, have we?  By any of the ‘Ris.  Nor can I help feeling like some of the fault is mine; If I hadn’t lost my temper when I saw Grasper and Keeper on the wall, none of this would have happened.”

 

“Nori and Ori are guilty only of insolent speech,” Fili said soberly.  

 

“Arrest every Dwarf who shows a bit o’ impudence and there won’t be any Dwarves left in the mountain,” Glóin added.  “We’re no’ the most polite of people, are we?”

 

“And if Dori has been damaged so by his injury in the battle…” Fili continued, “I do not say that he be allowed to continue as he has been, without some restriction to his liberty, but this is the first time he has shown such aggression, isn’t it?  That means something, I think.”

 

Ori bit his lip nervously.  He felt ambivalent about Kili’s defence of Dori and him.  He was grateful that Kili was interceding with Thorin, but that gratitude did not erase his resentment of Kili’s words.  Kili had hurt him greatly, and Ori still didn’t understand why.  He had done nothing to provoke Kili’s accusations.  If it worked, though…  If it worked, he would resolve to cast anything but thankfulness aside.  In this it was easier to be indebted to Fili, who had attempted to be kind and honest with them, balancing his belief in their innocence with the obedience he owed his uncle.  But though it would be simpler to owe his thanks to Fili, should Dori remain free, he would force himself to be grateful to rather than vexed at Kili as well. 

 

But then Dori spoke, and Ori feared Kili and Fili’s intercession would be for naught.

 

“It isn’t,” he admitted.  “Nori and Ori have had the worst of it, but this isn’t the first time I’ve taken a wallop at someone who offended me.  There was a Dwarf from the Iron Hills, the day the Arkenstone went missing, the first day of the search—I tried to thrash him, too.  And maybe he was a lecherous blighter, but I might have overreacted.  It’s tricky for me to know these days.”

 

For a long while Thorin frowned at Dori, sharply raising his hand to quiet Ori when he opened his mouth to defend Dori.

 

“Why did you and your brothers conceal this from us?” he finally asked.

 

Dori and Ori exchanged a look.  Once again, Dori nodded his permission; they could gain nothing from hiding now.

 

“At Azanulbizar, another branch of the family had a Dwarf that wasn’t as lucky as Bifur,” Ori explained.  “Before, he was a brother, a father, an artisan and a warrior; and then he fought at Azanulbizar and took an Orc’s mace to the head.  When he woke up after the battle, things would slip away from him:  he couldn’t remember things that had happened just an hour before, and he had some kind of spells.  His family took him to the Iron Hills to see what healing might be done; and instead of trying to help the healers locked him away like he was a criminal, where his family couldn’t see him; and he died there, no one to care for him, none of the ones that loved him with him.”

 

“I never thought it was luck that brought Bifur to the Ered Luin after Azanulbizar,” Bombur said with surprise.  “It was hard and we couldn’t afford much, and I remember Amad struggling to find him work and a place to stay—it’s how the family went into making toys.  Maybe he couldn’t talk much, but Bifur could carve; so Amad sold the toys and when Bofur was old enough he joined in during his time away from the mines.”

 

“ _I knew it_ ,” Bifur signed.  “ _My family loved me, but I was not the only beloved Dwarf injured that day.  Not all found such a good life, after.”_

 

“We knew some, like Bifur, hadn’t been treated that way; but we wouldn’t chance it with Dori,” Ori said.  “Especially when all the Dwarf healers but Óin were from the Iron Hills.  We didn’t plan it that way, but after Dori told us the story we were so grateful we’d gone into an Elven healer’s tent.  When Ireth told us that Dori’s temper might not return to what it was…”  He sighed.  “We hid it.  Dori was terrified it would happen to him, and so we hid it.”

 

Thorin stared at Dori, disbelief on his face.

 

“I didn’t know such things happened after Azanulbizar,” he said.  “Why would the families not come to me?”

 

Dori barked in truculent laughter.

 

“Have you forgotten what it was like then?” Balin asked Thorin gently.  “You were too young for the weight that had fallen on you, and you insisted that you must carry everything anyone asked of you.  Your advisors were _forced_ to limit access to you so that you didn’t kill yourself with exhaustion, trying to solve every problem of every Dwarf that had ever set foot in Erebor and some that never had besides.”

 

“And this is why!” Thorin roared.  “If they could not see me, why could another not help them?”  He sunk onto the chair behind him and hid his face in his hands.  When he finally raised his head again, though his face was dry, his eyes were red.  “I have failed so many Dwarves in my lifetime.  The wonder is not that the Heart of the Mountain was taken.  The wonder is that it ever came to me, that I ever thought I could deserve it.”  He sighed heavily before he stood to approach Dori.  Ori tensed with apprehension, but Thorin only grasped Dori by the shoulders and brought their foreheads together briefly.  “You cannot be allowed to assault another Dwarf,” he said, “but whatever must be done, you will not be taken from your brothers.  On the bones of Durin I swear it.”

 

Ori felt tears fill his eyes; and as soon as Thorin stepped back from Dori, Ori embraced his brother with all his strength.  Dori’s arms enclosed him tightly as well, and they remained thus for a long moment.  When Dori released Ori, he turned to face Kili, and Ori stiffened.  But Dori didn’t move to threaten Kili at all, only spoke to him in a flat voice.

 

“I don’t like the way you treat my brother,” he said bluntly.  “But I still had no call to set to you as I did.  So I apologise, though I admit I do it as much for Ori’s sake as for yours.”  Kili appeared a bit shame-faced as he nodded to show his acceptance, and Dori turned to Thorin.  “And for what it’s worth, I wasn’t trying to kill your nephew, just batter him a little.”  And with that speech, Dori lifted his chin proudly and went into the kitchen to brew a pot of tea, just as if he hadn’t been accused of murder and threatened with detention only minutes before.

 

Ori was just as relieved to hear that Dori had not intended to murder Kili as he was to have Thorin’s support for keeping Dori with his family.  Losing his temper and lashing out was one thing, but deliberately seeking to take another Dwarf’s life…  For the sake of his brother, he would have fought it; but if Dori wanted to kill, he probably _should_ be locked up.  But he needn’t worry about that; he needn’t worry about Dori at all anymore.  He closed his eyes in relief.  The worst had happened; all knew of Dori’s impairment, including the king; but Dori would remain with them nonetheless.  His eldest brother was safe.

 

Dori’s retreat to the kitchen seemed to signal a return to the search of the ‘Ri home.  Despite Thorin’s unexpected remorse and support of Dori’s right to live with his family, it seemed Thorin’s self-reproach did not extend that far.

 

The Company directed looks of apology to Ori before scattering to continue their hunt for the Arkenstone.  Ori shrugged and sat down near the fire.  Their privacy had already been encroached upon, and the Company would find nothing to incriminate Ori or his brothers.  The sooner they were done, the sooner they might get back to the search for Bofur, futile though it might be.  Kili didn’t return to Nori and Dwalin’s room, instead hovering hesitantly near where Ori sat.  Ori ignored him to watch as Fili tucked his crutch under one arm and used the other to support himself on the rail as he went up the stairs to Ori’s garret.  Not ten minutes later, he stood at the top of the stairs looking back down into the common room.

 

“Kili,” he said.  “Come up here.  I think you should see this.”

 

Kili shrugged and unenthusiastically made his way to the stairs.

 

“You too, Ori,” Fili added.  “You should come up, too.”

 

Ori turned a puzzled look to Fili.

 

“I already know what’s up there,” he told Fili.  “Why would I need to go see it?”

 

“Please, Ori,” Fili said, an anticipating smirk on his face.  “Do it for me, if not for yourself.”

 

Ori frowned at Fili but followed Kili up the stairs.  His tiny room was quite crowded with all three of them in it, so Ori stood in the doorway watching.  Fili was leaning against the wall, grinning mockingly at Kili, who stood bemusedly in the middle of the room.

 

“Do you think the Arkenstone’s hidden up here?” Kili asked.  “I’ll look if you want, but I don’t know why you couldn’t do it, you shirker.”  He smiled teasingly at Fili, whose grin widened.

 

“Oh, just take a look,” Fili coaxed.  “I think it’ll come to you.”

 

Kili slowly turned in a circle as he inspected Ori’s little attic.  Ori wasn’t sure what Fili hoped to accomplish with this, but he let his eyes follow Kili’s as they tracked around the room.  Kili’s eyes paused first on the little basket of children’s toys Ori had not been able to simply throw away, but had instead gathered up and kept in memory of the Dwarflings whose space this had been.  They traveled over Ori’s box of pencils, charcoals and inks; the drawings haphazardly stacked under the window nook; his narrow pallet on the floor; before flicking to Fili in confusion and then back around the room when Fili’s crooked smile didn’t change.  Seeing no reaction from Fili, Kili shrugged and went to kneel by the basket of children’s treasures Ori had salvaged from the wreck of the room when he claimed it as his own.  He smiled at bit at some of the toys and collected beads and pebbles before he seemed to decide that whatever Fili expected him to find wasn’t there.  He stood and looked around the little attic again, and then he moved over to the shelf where Ori’s traveling box stored his drawing supplies.  He hesitated only a moment before opening the box to display Ori’s pencils and charcoals secured on one side and his little ink pots carefully stowed away in their padding on the other.

 

Kili looked at Ori’s drawing supplies a long time.

 

“I love to see the comprehension slowly dawning,” Fili told Ori nonchalantly.  Kili shot him a frown over his shoulder before turning back to Ori’s travel box.  He gazed at it for another long moment before carefully closing and latching the box.

 

Next he turned to the stack of studies and sketches Ori had kept piled under the window.  He knelt down again to pick up the top one; and after looking at it he seemed to decide to get comfortable, for he sat at the foot of Ori’s pallet and began to sort through the drawings.  Ori’s supply of paper had been limited when the journey began; and after losing most of it to the Goblins under the Misty Mountains, he had hoarded the remaining pages like they were mithril.  He had been able to purchase more paper in Laketown, but even the poorest quality had been expensive; and he had gotten into the habit of conserving it as best he could, so each sheet was covered front and back with various sketches and drafts Ori had made before trying his hand at a more polished effort.

 

“I like this one,” Kili said, lifting it to show Ori the drawing he had made of Thorin instructing Bilbo in how to use his little sword.  Thorin stood behind Bilbo, his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders to adjust his stance.  Bilbo’s face was tilted up to meet Thorin’s gaze as Thorin looked down at him, and Ori had done his best to capture the look of bemused fascination on Thorin’s face.  “It’s just how Uncle used to look at Bilbo all the time before he would realise he was staring and try to go back to ignoring him.”  He smirked at them.  “And then he’d forget he was ignoring him and go back to staring like Bilbo was the most interesting and bewildering thing he’d ever seen.”

 

“Ori did nice work on that one, didn’t he?” Fili agreed.  “Did you see the one of us by the fire?  It’s a bit further down in the pile, I think.”

 

Kili returned to the stack of drawings and shuffled through them until he found the study Fili was referring too.  When Ori had burnt the final piece in a fit of hurt and anger, he hadn’t thought to burn this too; and he was glad of it because a few days later he had regretted destroying the other.  Maybe it had represented a painful shattering of his dreams, but it had still been one of his best portraits to date.  Though Kili’s back was to Ori, he could tell when Kili found it because he stilled, hands posed in the air, before reverently picking it up and turning to face Fili and him.

 

“Ori…” he began, but he seemed not to know what to say after that; and he turned to Fili.  “That’s the look on your face all the time, just before you say, ‘Kili, you _idiot_.’”  He faced Ori again.  “Ori, this is…  If you don’t mind, could I have this one?”

 

 _How ironic_ , Ori thought.  “Of course,” he said aloud.  “If you like I could make you a more polished one.”  _I am such a fool for him_ , he chastised himself.  _Not half an hour ago he accused me of deception—of deception at the very_ ** _least_** _—and here I am scrambling to give him what he wants._

 

“Ori’s lots better than he was before we left on the quest, isn’t he?” Fili asked Kili.  “I don’t know when he had the time to practice, but just look at those and you can see it.”

 

“Thank you,” Ori said.  Though Fili had been speaking to Kili rather than to him, he felt uncomfortable letting Fili’s kind words pass without acknowledgement.  Kili nodded.

 

“You really are,” he told Ori.  “I mean, you were good before, but these…” He gestured helplessly.

 

“It’s a shame he doesn’t have better light,” Fili said.  “I wonder if some of the places here have exterior windows, like those ones in that braggart Urun’s house in Belegost, remember him?  This one’s pretty, with all the cut-outs; but it doesn’t let in much light.”

 

Kili was looking at Fili, nodding in enthusiastic agreement; and it was like Fili had said; Ori could see the comprehension dawning on his face.  He looked first at the drawing still in his hand, then at the disturbed stack next to him, then at the box of Ori’s supplies and then last his eyes dropped to the makeshift pallet on which he sat.  His horrified eyes flew up to meet Ori’s gaze.

 

“And there it is!” Fili crowed sardonically.  Kili dropped the drawing in his hand and scrambled to his feet.

 

“Ori—Mahal, Ori, the things I said—“ he cried.  “And I—I didn’t mean it; any of it, I swear; I was just so—“  Desperately he grasped Ori’s hands and clutched them tightly.  “And I know I don’t have any right—Oh, Mahal, and I caused all that trouble for you and Dori—Mahal, Ori, do you hate me?”

 

Ori shook his head and tried to pull his hands out of Kili’s, but Kili wouldn’t release them.

 

“Forgive me, please,” he begged.  “I’m a wretched fool—“

 

“Blind,” Fili added.  Kili nodded fervently in agreement.

 

“Wretched, blind fool—“ he said, and Fili interrupted him again.

 

“Don’t forget stupid and idiotic,” Fili said.  “Obtuse.  Slow.  Thick—“  He broke off with a laugh as Kili shoved him.

 

“Enough help, brother!” he said before turning back to Ori.  “I am, though, Ori; all that and more—“

 

“Make him grovel for it, Ori; that’s what I say,” Fili said, carefully balancing on his crutch before making his way past Ori and down the stairs back to the common room.  Ori turned to follow him, but Kili grasped his arm.

 

“I know I haven’t been fair to you,” he said earnestly.  “Or even very kind lately.  If I were you, I think I might hate me.  But I am truly, truly sorry for the things I said to you, and just—for everything, lately.”

 

“All right,” Ori said, outwardly resigned, but his thoughts were sullen.  Kili just ran so hot and cold, these days…but he didn’t see how arguing about it would make it any better.  Ori had to become inured to it, or it would make him crazy.  “Thank you for apologising.  And thank you for defending Dori earlier; you didn’t have to do that.”

 

“I really did,” Kili said with a grimace.  He paused for a moment.  “Ori?” he asked.  “Why _is_ Dwalin living here?”

 

Ori rolled his eyes.  “ _Really_ , Kili?”  Kili smiled his disarming smile, but Ori was still irritated enough that he wasn’t going to tell him _that_ easily.  “Think about it,” Ori said tartly.  “I’m sure it will come to you eventually.”  He tugged the arm that Kili held, and Kili groaned but released Ori’s arm and gestured gallantly for him to precede Kili down the stairs.  Ori huffed grumpily and went.

 

As he had known it would, the Company’s reluctant sweep through the ‘Ri home found nothing.  Ori directed his attention to Thorin, to see what he would command now, and was surprised to find Thorin’s gaze focused on him.

 

“It is, isn’t it?” Thorin mused, apropos of nothing.  Ori had no idea to what he referred.

 

“Your Majesty?” he asked.  “What is?”

 

“Love,” Thorin answered pensively.  “It destroys your every defence, leaving you exposed and tender.  And it burns like acid, melting away who you were born to be, creating a new shape, until you no longer know who you are.”

 

Ori had no answer; he could only regard Thorin with reluctant pity.  However much Kili may have hurt Ori, losing Bilbo in the way that he had seemed to have wreaked Thorin more than anyone had known.  He didn’t know if it was worse that Thorin had been the one who sent Bilbo away or not; he could only see that no matter what Thorin believed, he suffered more from repudiating his love than he did from the disappearance of the Arkenstone.

 

Thorin, however, did not seem to need a response from Ori.  He appeared to be determined still to continue the search.  Ori didn’t understand Thorin at all at the moment.  Did he think recovering the Arkenstone would mean that he did deserve to be king under the Lonely Mountain after all?  Why didn’t he see that his right to be king was one he had earned during his years of dedication to Erebor’s Dwarves, and that no stone could give him that or take it away?  Nori was right:  Erebor’s heart was its people.  He wished he knew what it would take for Thorin to understand it.

 

Whatever it was that Thorin thought, he only indicated his agreement when Balin hesitantly asked if they should continue to search the homes the rest of the Company occupied.

 

“Begin with the residence Bombur and Bifur share with Bofur, and continue until every house has been examined,” he said curtly.  “I will expect a report in no less than three hours.  The kingdom has been waiting for too long already.”  He paused.  “As has Bofur,” the king quietly added before departing back the way they had come.  The Company watched him go, uncertainty and speculation in their eyes.  When Thorin had passed out of sight, Balin exhaled heavily and began to direct the Company to their next task.

 

But the first direction he gave, rather than the command to search the ‘Ur home, was for Dwalin to go free Nori from his detainment and meet them at the ‘Ur residence.  Ori and Dori were not the only members of the Company who seemed greatly cheered by the action.  It was a far more spirited group of Dwarves that proceeded to the ‘Ur home.

 

Their search there, like the search of the home Ori shared with his brothers, revealed nothing.  Nor did the search of Balin’s home, which he insisted come next.

 

Because they had waited for Nori’s return before continuing to hunt for the Arkenstone, the Company had time only for one more search before reporting as directed to Thorin.  Óin and Glóin declared firmly that it would be their home next; the Company seemed determined to make amends to the ‘Ri and ‘Ur families for falling under the least shadow of suspicion.  Óin and Glóin seemed belligerently prepared to fight Fili and Kili for the priviledge of having their privacy invaded like this, but Fili only seemed amused and and Kili actually a bit relieved.

 

“It’ll give me a chance to put away the dirty clothes all over the floor,” he joked.  “Balin and Fili will say I’m a Dwarfling who can’t take care of himself well enough to live alone, and Thorin will have that disappointed look that makes you feel completely inept.”

 

Óin and Glóin’s home was quite out of the way, down a passageway Ori had never traversed before.  It had apparently belonged to some cousins of theirs before Smaug came.  To reach it the Company needed to circle around the great expanse that opened into the core of Erebor, and Ori found the walk an interesting diversion.  At regular intervals curtained alcoves were spaced along the wall on their left, the one that bordered the circumference of the open area at the center of the mountain.  Ori found himself dropping to the back of the group of Dwarves, his footsteps slowing as he wondered wistfully if anyone would notice if he crept away into one of the niches carved out of the corridor for a moment or two.  He’d very much like to see the view into the heart of Erebor from one of these vantage points.

 

Ori had paused just outside one of the alcoves, having not quite convinced himself that he might stop to look, when he became aware of Kili standing next to him.  He had thought the entire Company had gone ahead.  Before he realised what was happening, Kili had pushed him into the balcony nook and dropped the incredibly dusty curtain behind them.  Ori had only moments to see the view from the balcony, out over and into Erebor.  It must have been breathtaking when the city was at its height, the lights and sounds of so many Dwarves floating through the core of the Lonely Mountain.  Now it was mostly dark and still, and the dust of the disintegrating curtain made Ori cough.  But Ori didn’t have the chance to see the expanse properly, because before he could Kili crowded him against the wall with his body, his mouth so close that Ori could feel his breath on his skin.

 

“I need you to do something for me,” Kili whispered in his ear.  Ori’s whole body was taut with adrenaline, to have Kili so close as this; and it was all he could do not to shake.  How did Bofur stand it, to have Kili close to him, to feel his skin, without vibrating to pieces?  How had he not collapsed from the aching tension of it?  Less than a minute like this, with all these layers between them, Kili not actually touching him, though he was so, so close…yet Ori thought his heart might give in.  It was as if he was once more hanging precariously from Dori’s foot over a terrible height, in the moments of falling before the great Eagle caught them on its back, or the moment his anchor gave way in the mine, when Dwalin had not yet stopped his fall.  

 

He flushed with humiliation and fury.  First Kili seemed to care for Ori, and then he mortified him by revealing his new lover to the Company and half the Dwarves in the mountain while Ori stood shamed at his side, his foolish crush exposed for all to see.  He told Ori that no one meant more to him than Ori did, and spoke so eloquently of his love for Bofur only hours later.  One instant Kili berated him without cause, and the next he apologised for everything he had done in the past weeks.  Ori could not believe that he had thought Kili straightforward and uncomplicated.  He did not know why Kili acted as he did, but he must know what he was doing to Ori.  How could he _miss_ it?  _Why_ did he have to make it so difficult for Ori?  Hadn’t he done enough already?

 

“What do you want?”  Ori tried to spit it out; but his breathing had become too fast and shallow; it was more of a gasping plea.

 

“The only Company quarters we haven’t looked through yet are mine and Fili’s and Uncle’s,” Kili murmured.  “I have something in my rooms I need you to hide for me before they’re searched.”  Ori started with surprise and stared at Kili.

 

“Not...” he said, disbelief in his voice.

 

Kili chuckled.  “Not the Arkenstone, no,” he replied mischievously.  “But I’ll be in just as much trouble if it’s found in my rooms; and your house has already been searched, so it should be safe there.”  He leant forward again until his words stirred Ori’s hair.  “Please, Ori.”

 

“What _is_ it then?” Ori asked insistently.  Kili sighed in response.

 

“I can’t tell you,” he said.  “I’m sorry, Ori.  I know it’s not fair to ask it of you.  But I promise it’s not the Arkenstone or anything that would harm the mountain.  It’s only—Thorin will be furious with me if he finds it.  And not just me.  Please.  You’re the only one I trust enough, besides Fili; and Fili can’t help with this.”  This wasn’t fair.  Ori could hardly think from having Kili so close to him.  Even though Kili was a terrible liar, he couldn’t tell if Kili was lying to him or what Kili was thinking at all; he couldn’t see or feel or hear anything but Kili’s body, so close to his, and Kili’s low voice in his ear.

 

“I’m mad at you,” he protested weakly.

 

“Please, Ori,” Kili responded, his mouth so close, so close— “Please.  I _need_ your help in this.”

 

Hopeless to the last, Ori gave in with a resigned sigh.  Why was he so _defenceless_ against Kili?

 

“All right,” he said crossly.  Kili sagged with relief and Ori realised for the first time that Kili had been strung just as tight as he had.

 

“Thank you,” Kili breathed in his ear.  “I owe you and I promise I’ll make it up to you.”  Now that Ori had agreed, he thought Kili would back away, but he did not; in fact, he lingered, as close to Ori as his own breath.  From the way Ori could feel his braids gently moving, he thought Kili might be nuzzling his face in Ori’s hair.  And then—oh Mahal, that was definitely Kili’s open mouth on Ori’s neck.  Ori gasped.

 

“Do that again,” Kili whispered.

 

“No,” Ori whimpered.  “Stop that.  You already have a lover.”  He couldn’t make himself move away, though.  Even the reminder that Bofur was trapped in the bowels of the mountain didn’t give him the strength to resist Kili.  But _oh, this_ —though intensely sensual, this first touch of Kili’s mouth on his skin also felt hesitant—almost innocent.  Perhaps as long as it wasn’t any more than this, Ori didn’t have to feel _so_ guilty about allowing this to happen—especially while Bofur was lost somewhere in the mines.  He was a terrible person, but he wasn’t so terrible as that, was he?  

 

Kili started to trail slow kisses along his neck, just under the line where his beard began to grow.  Helplessly he moaned, soft and low.  _Oh, he was; he was a terrible, terrible Dwarf._

 

“Don’t say ‘no,’” Kili murmured as he nibbled gently on Ori’s earlobe.  “Say _yes_.”

 

“Kili...” Ori groaned quietly.  Kili moaned in response, and he closed the little remaining distance between them so that his body was pressed hard against Ori’s own.  

 

“Say my name again,” he demanded.  “Say ‘Kili, yes.’  _Say it, Ori_.”

 

“Oh Mahal,” Ori exclaimed instead.  Kili began to suck messily on Ori’s neck.  They both gasped, and Kili lifted his head so that he was leaning his forehead against Ori’s, their noses almost touching.  Ori let his eyes flutter shut.

 

“Say it,” Kili whispered, and he let his lips drift down to barely brush against Ori’s.  “Say ‘Kili, yes— _yes_ , Kili, yes, yes _, always yes_ , Kili.’”

 

“Guh,” Ori groaned.  _So eloquent_ , he thought exasperatedly and then his brain gave up thinking entirely.  The moment his mouth had opened Kili had tilted his head and gently bit Ori’s upper lip before licking into Ori’s mouth.  Ori inhaled sharply.  _Kili was kissing him!_   His hands had been hanging uselessly at his sides but now they tangled themselves in Kili’s hair.  Ori closed his eyes and let Kili all the way in, and Kili laughed low and triumphant against him.  He murmured Ori’s name against his lips and shifted his weight somehow so that their bodies were slotted perfectly together as he deepened their kiss again.  Kili rocked— 

 

“I hate to interrupt,” Fili smirked at them from the nook’s entrance, where he had pushed the curtain aside with his crutch.  Ori startled to see him there and blushed as he tried to push Kili away, his desire completely swamped by his mortification at being found like this.  Kili, on the other hand:  while he did break away from kissing Ori to regard Fili, he held his body firm against Ori’s so that Ori could not flee but was trapped between him and the wall.  “But private time’s about to come crashing to an end.  Kili, you have so much dust in your hair you look as grey as Dwalin.  Ori, you’re not quite as dusty, but you’re red as a garnet.  And my guess is you have about half a minute before Dori figures out where you’ve gone.”  Kili made a rude gesture at his brother before turning his attention back to Ori.  Hurriedly Ori covered Kili’s mouth with his hand before he could start kissing him again.  Fili laughed out loud, but he moved back into the hall and dropped the curtain behind him.

 

“Let me go,” Ori told Kili firmly.  “I need to go before Dori really does come looking, and you don’t need to provoke him again today.”  Kili’s lively dark eyes pleaded and Ori could feel his smile against the hand Ori still held over his mouth, but he didn’t relent until Kili began licking and nibbling at his hand.  At that he whipped his hand away, but before Kili could kiss him again he braced both hands against Kili’s shoulders.  “No.  Stop.  This isn’t right,” he insisted.  “It’s not fair to Bofur and it’s not fair to me either.  I deserve better than this.”  At that, Kili’s face grew solemn and regretful, and he stepped back so that Ori could move freely.

 

“You’re right,” he said.  “You do.  You deserve everything.”  Ori began to leave, but before he could Kili stopped him to take Ori’s face in his hands.  “I can’t right now.  It’s killing me, but—there are some things that I’m trying to take care of.  But when that’s over...”  He leant in and kissed Ori again, a bare whisper of his lips against Ori’s.  “When it’s all done with, just try to stop me then.  I’m not done with you, Ori.  Remember it.”  He backed away again, and after one frozen moment, Ori dashed out of the alcove to catch up with the others.  Fili was right; he could tell from the way Dori was looking around that he’d noticed Ori was gone and was about to come looking for him.  Ori hurried to his side and smiled brightly at him.  _Nothing to see here; not hiding anything,_ he tried hard to project.  Dori’s eyes narrowed at him.

 

“Where did you get to?” he demanded.

 

“There was an overlook,” Ori replied.  “I was looking.  At the overlook.”  Dori harrumphed, but he didn’t say anything else.  Nori, on the other hand, looked sceptical.

 

“An overlook, was there?” he asked.  “And did it behave like a Gentledwarf, this overlook; or will I have to break its hands?”  Ori blushed.  _I have to learn how to lie better_ , he thought _._ He dared a glance over his shoulder, back to where Kili and Fili walked together, laughing; he thought Fili was teasing Kili about stealing away with Ori.  As if he sensed Ori’s eyes on him, Kili looked up then, and— _oh, Mahal_.

 

 _Yes, Kili,_ every inch of him cried.  _Yes, yes, always yes, Kili._ And Kili knew it; Ori could almost see it flare in Kili’s eyes the moment he realised.  _I’m not done with you, Ori,_ he had said.  _Remember it_.  Ori didn’t see how he could possibly forget.


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori learns the secrets Kili is hiding at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that the chapter count has gone up AGAIN. I promise that the next chapter is really the end. Really.
> 
> *crosses fingers*
> 
> And may I direct your attention to the LOVELIEST gif laughxoutxloud94 made for Dwalin and Nori's views on love from chapter four? It's warm and romantic and perfect for them! Go see the pretty: http://laughxoutxloud94.tumblr.com/post/75367483134/nori-and-dwalin-are-a-more-mature-love-a-love-in

Thorin wasn’t pleased that the Company hadn’t found the Arkenstone and was positively annoyed that they hadn’t finished searching their quarters, but he seemed mollified that only the Durins’ rooms remained to be searched and he didn’t comment on Nori’s reappearance.  What’s more, he allowed the small gathering to eat a midday meal before resuming the their hunt; and he appeared to be amused when Kili begged to be released to clean up his room before it was invaded by the Company.

 

“You will have to suffer through your embarrassment, Kili,” Thorin said with a small quirk to his lips.  “How bad can it be?”

 

Kili flushed bright red.

 

“It’s pretty bad,” he confessed, shamefaced.

 

Fili laughed out loud and Thorin’s mouth stretched into a proper smile.

 

“Let someone go with him,” Fili suggested.  “So he can pretend that he has a little dignity.  At least, he can pretend in front of _most_ of the Company, anyway.  I don’t mind.”

 

“Not _you_ ,” Kili said grumpily.  “You’ll just tell everyone exaggerated stories about how bad it is.  I want Ori.  He won’t try to humiliate me.”

 

“ _You’re_ not going _anywhere_ with Ori,” Dori growled.  “Not alone.”

 

Kili opened his mouth to protest, but then looked at Dori’s face and seemed to think better of it.  He shut it again without speaking; but he looked so mortified, and Ori could see a layer of worry underneath…

 

“What if Nori comes with us?” he said.  “Then Kili only has to show two of us exactly how messy he is and Dori won’t have to worry that he’s—“  Ori broke off and he knew he was blushing near as red as Kili.  “Well—whatever it is Dori’s worried about,” he concluded weakly.

 

“I’d be glad to,” Nori said with his dangerous smile.  Dori frowned, but finally he grudgingly nodded.  Thorin sighed, but he nodded as well; and Kili jumped to his feet and pulled Ori up with him.

 

“Are you ready?” he asked Nori brightly.  “You can catch up if you want.  We’ll just go ahead.”

 

Nori’s eyes narrowed and when he spoke his voice was silky.

 

“No need,” he said, pushing his plate aside.  “I’m done.”

 

Kili shrugged and dragged Ori by his hand to the door, pulling him quickly out into the hall and leaving Nori to keep up as best he could.  Once they were out of sight Ori wrenched his hand out of Kili’s, but he also kept up with Kili’s quick pace.

 

“Oh, this isn’t suspicious at all,” he told Kili witheringly.  “Nori won’t think you’re trying to hide a thing.”

 

“Maybe he will, but he’ll just think I’m trying to steal another kiss,” Kili said.  “Anyway, I just need a minute.  Less than a minute.”

 

Ori raised his eyebrows, but what could he say?  Kili had already said that he couldn’t tell Ori anything.

 

“You better tell me what’s going on eventually,” he informed Kili in a low whisper after glancing over his shoulder briefly to check that Nori was far enough behind them that he couldn’t overhear.

 

“You’ll be the first,” Kili promised, and then they were at the chambers Kili had appropriated.

 

“Here we are,” he announced with a flourish as he opened the door.  “Thanks for coming with me, Ori; I really appreciate the chance to clean up before my rooms are searched for the Arkenstone.”

 

“What did you want to hide?” Ori asked.  “You’d better be quick if you don’t want Nori to see.”

 

“I have an idea about that,” Kili said.

 

Ori hoped Kili’s idea would work with a witness, because by that time Nori had joined them.

 

“If he’s done that fast, Ori, I suggest you find another seducer,” Nori said.

 

“I wasn’t trying anything,” Kili protested.  “Anyway, come in.”  He gestured them through the door into his chambers.

 

It wasn’t actually terribly messy, Ori thought; Kili had clearly played up his untidiness to have an excuse to hand over whatever he wanted to hide.  Nori and Ori stood watching him gather up a few discarded shirts, tidy a pile of paper on his desk and make his bed.

 

“That’s what you were afraid of us seeing?” Nori asked.  “I’m not saying I’d want you for a roommate, but Dwalin’s not much better than you.”

 

Kili shot Ori a look of sudden, shocked comprehension and Ori rolled his eyes in response.

 

“I’m such an idiot,” Kili told him earnestly.  “I’m really, really sorry, Ori.”  He turned to include Nori in his next words.  “And I’m trying to get back on Dori’s good side,” he added.  “I thought it might help me look responsible, being tidy.”

 

Nori smirked a slightly ominous smile.

 

“The apology’s at least a start, bow-boy,” he said.  “Though you’ll have to do a lot more than clean your room to placate Dori and I suspect that at best he’ll only ever tolerate you, so don’t get your hopes too high.  Now let’s go tell the others so we can get this over with.”

 

“Wait!” Kili said.  “I did actually want Ori to come for a reason.”  He went to the desk and picked up a thick book beautifully bound in red leather, a lovely long white quill made from what Ori thought was most likely an egret feather and a small jar of ink.

 

“I want to give these to you,” he told Ori.  “I… Bilbo left these behind when he was forced out of the mountain, and I’ve saved them because they were his, but…  It’s not much, but I want you to have them, to show how sorry I am about what I said.  And I didn’t want to do it in front of Thorin because I don’t like to remind him about the way Bilbo left.”

 

Nori seemed a bit sceptical but he didn’t comment.  Ori was rather touched.

 

“Thank you, Kili,” he said.  “It will be very nice to have something to remember Bilbo by, and there’s so much blank paper here—I’d like to think that Bilbo would want me to have it for drawing if he couldn’t use it anymore.”

 

“I know he would,” Kili said, smiling happily.  “Do you think we can take it to your home before we go back?  I don’t know if Thorin will recognize it or not, but he might.”

 

Ori nodded, but Nori did not.

 

“Give it here, Ori,” he said.

 

As Ori handed the book to Nori, Kili tensed slightly but said nothing.  Nori frowned as he flipped desultorily through the pages then inspected the book’s cover, paying particular attention to the spine, before returning it to Ori with a shrug.

 

“If we hurry, I don’t see why not,” he said.

 

They walked quickly to the ‘Ri home, Ori ran upstairs to set the book on the shelf next to his travel box of supplies, and then they went back to the chambers in which the Company waited.

 

The search of the Durins’ quarters went quickly.  Kili took great joy in teasing Fili for having an unmade bed, which Fili tolerated with a wry smile.  Thorin’s quarters were extraordinarily sparse, so empty that Ori felt another bout of unwilling sympathy for him.  They seemed to cry out that they needed a Hobbit with a Hobbit’s love of comfort to make them a home, and they would never be anything but desolate without him.

 

Nothing was found in any of their rooms.

 

As the Company stood uncomfortably in Thorin’s bare room, he rubbed his hands roughly over his face, huffed, and then stood from where he had been seated by the fire waiting for the Company to finish their search.  Ori could see it in his face:  it was Thorin Oakenshield who stood before them, not the King under the Mountain.

 

“Perhaps a short halt in our search will give us time to discern what our next measure should be,” he said.  “Other matters must now take precedence over repeating a search that has already gone over every inch of Erebor.”   He exhaled sharply in frustration.  “Balin, have every one of the searchers gathered in my council chambers in one hour.  We will turn our energies to the search for Bofur.”

 

“Perhaps we may yet find the Heart of the Mountain,” Fili said encouragingly.  “We have not directed any attention towards an exploration of the mines.”

 

A brief hope crossed Thorin’s face before it faded.  The Dwarves who had participated in the first search of the mines for Bofur wore expressions of barely hidden horror or resignation to the futility of such a search.

 

“Why would anyone take it down there?” Dwalin asked.  “There’s no way out, only deeper and deeper into the mountain.”

 

“We couldn’t hope to find it, laddie,” Balin told Fili gently.  “The mines of Erebor…well, you’ll see, won’t you?”

 

But Thorin shook his head.

 

“I will not risk my heir to the mines,” he said.  Fili began to protest but Thorin continued implacably.  “Not with your balance the way it is, Fili.  I might not even were you in full health, not with the reports I have had of the condition of the mines.  You will remain in the city and serve as steward in my absence.  Kili, you will assist him.”

 

The surprise Ori felt was mirrored on the faces of rest of the Company.

 

“Do you intend to join the search, Thorin?” Balin asked hesitantly.

 

“Aye,” Thorin replied.  “It is past time I did my duty to our lost companion.”

 

“I’d like to help look for Bofur, Uncle,” Kili said.

 

“Please, Thorin,” Fili added.  “He is our companion as well.”

 

But Thorin only shook his head, so Fili and Kili unwillingly subsided.

 

With all the Dwarves who had previously been engaged in the hunt for the Arkenstone now joining the search of the mines, many times the earlier progress was made.  Nonetheless the day’s search proved fruitless, and Ori feared it was still too little.  The extent of Erebor’s mines was far too vast.  Moreover, so much time had passed before an attempt to rescue Bofur had even begun…  Ori worried that should they be lucky enough to find him, it would still be too late to save his life.  A Dwarf might last a week without food, but not without water; and that was assuming his injuries were minimal enough that he might survive this long without a healer’s care.

 

They hunted for Bofur ten long days before admitting defeat.

 

Ori hardly knew how to meet Bombur’s eyes or even stoic Bifur’s gaze.  If they had fought Thorin harder, begun the search earlier—who could say if given another week they would have found him, but to have wasted that time on a senseless and ultimately inefficacious hunt for a pretty decoration for Thorin’s throne…  It was heartbreaking to think it.  He found himself drifting closer to his brothers whenever he could, as if through physical proximity he could keep them safe from Bofur’s fate.

 

In the evenings Ori retired to his room early to page through the book Kili had given him.  It was in turns cheering and distressing to read Bilbo’s words:  his thoughts about their quest, the Dwarves, missing the comforts of his home…  There was one quite funny diatribe regarding Gandalf’s tendency to assume a mysterious air of wisdom that had Ori laughing out loud.

 

Whatever Kili had wanted to hide must be in this book, somehow; but Ori could not see what it could possibly be.  Nori knew far more about how to hide contraband than Ori did, and he had seen no signs of such tampering…  Perhaps Kili’s secret might be discovered by taking the book apart, but Ori couldn’t bring himself to destroy Bilbo’s book in such a way.  Ori desperately wanted to learn what Kili was hiding, but for now he had no recourse.  Unless Kili decided to tell him, he wouldn’t know.  But Ori continued to look through Bilbo’s book, hoping to find a clue of some kind; and even if he did not, seeing their journey through Bilbo’s eyes was its own reward.

 

On the day the search for Bofur was called off, he turned to Bilbo’s book for comfort and came to a short passage about Thorin.

 

 _I cannot begin to understand him_ , it read.  _His ludicrous expectations, his injurious words, his dismissive manner towards me…all these combine to make him the most unpleasant person of my acquaintance—and that includes cousin Otho’s ghastly wife._

 

_And yet:  his stalwart dedication to his people, his unparalleled bravery, his impossible endurance:  all unite to compel my reluctant admiration of his indomitable spirit._

 

_It does not help that he has the bluest eyes I have ever seen and a form stunning in its masculine beauty._

 

_Perhaps it is good fortune that he is so relentlessly unpleasant, or I should have lost my heart before we departed Bag End.  As it stands, I believe I am in no danger._

 

Ori closed Bilbo’s book with guilt in his heart and tears in his eyes.  _Oh, Bilbo_!

 

The next night the Company gathered alone for their evening meal.  Life under the mountain had returned to what it was before, the only change being a marked pall cast over all the Dwarves (whether they were of Erebor or of the Iron Hills); so this occasion, usually so convivial, was gloomy.  The Company tried to show their support to the ‘Urs as best they could, but Bombur was inconsolably forlorn.

 

Kili deftly claimed the seat next to Ori as the Dwarves sat to table, and Ori offered him a subdued smile that Kili returned eagerly.

 

“Have you noticed?” he whispered to Ori.  “I think Uncle’s been himself, mostly, for at least a week now.  More, even—since we all left the search for the Arkenstone to look for Bofur instead.”

 

Ori frowned.  He had been too preoccupied with worry for their companion to note it at the time, but now that he thought back…  Kili was right.  There had been no vicious explosions, no cold demands; and more tellingly in Ori’s mind, not a word about beginning another search for the Heart of the Mountain now that the search for Bofur had been given up.

 

“I hadn’t noticed before, but I agree,” he told Kili.  “It is only—I cannot help but wish that his sanity had returned in time for us to begin looking for Bofur the moment we realised he was missing.”

 

Sober-faced, Kili nodded, but—  Ori narrowed his eyes.  Kili might appear sombre, but inside he was contented, as if he had not a care for Bofur’s death; Ori could see it in him.  It was deeply disturbing.  Kili had never before been callous, and his own lover…

 

“I don’t like you keeping secrets,” Ori told him.

 

Kili started with surprise.

 

“I—“ he said.

 

“Whatever they are, they’re big,” Ori continued.  “I can’t begin to guess.  But it’s deplorable—to be so—  If you do not mourn him yourself, have you no compassion for Bofur’s family?”

 

Now Kili’s face was crestfallen.

 

“It’s not—“ he began.

 

“I hardly care that you don’t trust me,” Ori said.  “I do, but— I care more that you have only shown interest in me since Bofur disappeared, when you have wanted something—“

 

“It’s not like that!” Kili hissed.  “You’re the only one who even knows I have a secret!  And I wouldn’t have given you Bilbo’s book if I didn’t trust you!”

 

“Why not?” Ori scoffed.  “You needed a gull and I was there.  I’d admitted I’d lie for you.  Hardly a risk, was it?”

 

“Not even Fili—“ Kili insisted.

 

“And I _cannot_ forget the way you cast aside—“ Ori whispered furiously.

 

“I have always told Fili _everything_ —“ Kili spoke right over Ori.

 

“Should I expect to be tossed out with yesterday’s slurry when my use—“ Ori demanded.

 

“Why can’t _you_ trust _me_?” Kili cried, and the whole table fell silent to stare at them.

 

Mortified, Ori hid his face in his hands.  After a moment, Dwalin snorted.

 

“Ah, young love’s bliss,” he said loudly, and all the Company joined him as he guffawed—even Nori and Dori—even _Thorin_.

 

Glaring at them all, with an especially pointed scowl at Kili, Ori pushed away from the table and stomped from the room.

 

Within moments, Kili had followed.

 

“Ori!” he called exasperatedly.  “Ori!”

 

“What!” Ori turned and yelled.  “Maybe you’d like to make a vague promise so you can stall me just a bit longer?”

 

“No—Ori, wait!” Kili cried.  He ran to catch up to Ori.  “I’ll tell you,” he said with a groan.  “I’ll tell you, all right?  If you’ll only listen!”

 

Ori smiled serenely at him.

 

“That’s all I ask,” he replied.

 

It was Kili’s turn to narrow his eyes.

 

“You—“ he stuttered.  “You—that was all on purpose!”  He glared.  “I thought you were really angry!”

 

“Oh, I am,” Ori assured him with a sharp smile.  “Which is why you’re going to tell me everything— _everything_ —and after we’ll see.”

 

Kili stopped walking.

 

“We’ll see what?” he balked.

 

“How much I’m going to have to fix,” Ori told him.

 

“I’m not incompetent!” Kili declared angrily.

 

“After that we’ll know how mad I am,” Ori calmly replied.

 

Kili threw his hands into the air.

 

“Come on then!” he said with frustration.  “I’ll show you, and then _you_ will owe _me_ an apology.”  He set off at a brisk pace, and Ori hurried after him.

 

“Where are we going?” he asked.

 

“Your house,” Kili said.  “To show you what we hid there.”

 

Ori stopped to goggle at him.  _Kili was really going to tell him what was going on.  He was going to show him what he’d been hiding._   He smiled to himself.  _Maybe he wasn’t so bad at lying after all.  It was a shame he couldn’t tell Nori about it._

 

Up ahead Kili stopped, arms crossed, to wait for him.

 

“Coming?” he asked tartly.

 

“Right behind you,” Ori said.

 

Unfortunately, it seemed that they would have very limited privacy; a chary Dori must have followed them only minutes later.  Ori and Kili had only just climbed the stairs to Ori’s garret and sat down.  Ori was waiting patiently while Kili seemed to gather his thoughts, and perhaps his resolve, when they heard the door slam below them.

 

“Ori!” they heard Dori cry.  “Ori, are you in here?”

 

Ori put his finger to Kili’s lips to hush him.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Ori yelled down the stairs.  “I’m mad at you!  You laughed at me!”

 

“Is Kili up there with you?” Dori asked—scolded, more like.

 

“I’m even angrier with him!” Ori yelled.  “I can’t believe he embarrassed me like that!”  Ori listened for a moment, but Dori seemed to be content to leave him be as long as he believed Ori wasn’t alone with Kili.  “He won’t come up here if we’re careful,” he informed Kili, his voice low.  “We just have to be quiet.”

 

“You’re sure?” Kili whispered.  “Because your brother has already tried to kill me once this month.”

 

“I’m sure,” Ori nodded.  “Respecting privacy’s quite important to him.”  Kili looked curious.  “Don’t ask,” Ori said.  “Just trust me.”

 

“I _do_ ,” Kili said.  He took a deep breath.  “All right.  Whatever you do, don’t yell.”

 

Ori frowned at him.  “Why will I want to yell at you?” he asked suspiciously.

 

“Not yell _at_ me, exactly; though I guess you might want to do that too,” Kili replied.

 

All right, I won’t,” said Ori as he shrugged.

 

“Are you ready?” Kili asked.  “I mean it about the yelling.”

 

“I won’t; I won’t!” Ori said with annoyance.

 

“Okay,” Kili said.  “No more secrets.  I’ll tell you everything.  But first, I guess, is this:  I didn’t do this alone.”  He looked around Ori’s room with an expectant air; Ori raised his eyebrows dubiously.  

 

And then there was Bilbo, sitting in the corner of Ori’s room where there had been only air before.

 

Ori yelped.

 

“Hello, Ori,” Bilbo said in an apologetic tone.  “You’re looking well.”

 

“I told you not to yell!” Kili hissed.

 

“You didn’t tell me Hobbits would appear out of nowhere!” Ori exclaimed.  “What about ‘Ori, Bilbo’s here at the mountain and he’s going to take off his ring now?!?’”

 

“I did want to surprise you a bit,” Kili said, smirking.  “But I thought you might just jump a little.  I _told_ you not to yell.”

 

“ _Hobbit out of thin air_ , Kili,” Ori growled.

 

Bilbo smiled sheepishly.  Kili’s shoulders shook as he tried to suppress his laughter.

 

“You laugh now,” Ori said tartly, “but all I have to do is say your name a little louder, and Dori’ll be up here in a flash.  Would you like to know what he said he’d do to you after I caught you with Bofur?”

 

Kili sobered.

 

“Do I?” he asked warily.

 

“That depends,” Ori replied.  “How scared of my brother do you want to be?”

 

“I think I’m scared enough,” Kili said.  “Sorry; I just couldn’t resist!  And truly, your face!”

 

Ori sniffed disdainfully and turned to face Bilbo instead.  Bilbo’s merry eyes were wide as he watched Kili and Ori argue, and his lips curved in the smallest of smiles.

 

“You didn’t need to cooperate with him, either,” Ori told Bilbo, who looked a bit worse for wear, now that Ori looked more closely at him:  tired, and fine lines on his face—was he in pain?  Had his broken leg not healed entirely?  But hurt, tired, even when covered in Troll mucus—he was still their Hobbit, their Bilbo—here with them when Ori had thought he would never see him again.  

 

Oir hesitated briefly, then—  It was terribly presumptuous of him, but he flung himself across the room and into Bilbo’s arms anyway.  Bilbo seemed quite startled, but he wrapped his arms around Ori and embraced him warmly.  “I’ve missed you,” Ori said.  “We’ve all missed you so much.”  He pulled back to regard Bilbo keenly.  “But what are you doing?  You know you’re not safe here!”

 

“Some things matter more than safety,” Bilbo said.  “And I’ve been very careful.  No one has suspected anything.”

 

“And I’ve helped,” Kili stated indignantly.

 

Bilbo nodded with an indulgent smile, but Ori snorted.

 

“How have you helped?” he asked.  “Bilbo’s used his ring to hide, obviously.  I don’t see how you helped with that.”

 

“Aye, but he’s been staying in my room!” Kili sulked.  “And I got him here, didn’t I?”

 

Ori pondered that with a thoughtful frown.

 

“Is _that_ why you disappeared for so long?” he asked.  “When you claimed to have gone on a hunting trip?  When you told all of us you had only gone out to hunt venison, in actuality you went to pluck Bilbo up from where he rested in Thranduil’s halls, healing from his wounds, and drag him back into danger?”

 

Undaunted, Kili nodded.

 

“And I made pretty good time doing it, if I do say so myself,” he said.  “I’d like to see anyone else make the trip from Erebor to Mirkwood in less than four days.”

 

“Three and a half, I’d say,” Bilbo said.  “And really, that last one’s more like two-thirds of a day.”

 

“That’s still less than four,” Kili insisted.

 

“You were gone ten at least—four days there and four days back is eight days—what happened the other two?” Ori prompted.

 

“It was _less_ than four days journey!” Kili protested.

 

“He’s rounding up, Kili; it’s fine,” Bilbo said.  “And at any rate I think any time you saved while traveling simply went instead to convincing the Wood Elves to let you in the gate.”  He turned back to Ori.   “It took us two days to come up with a working plan and prepare to implement it.”

 

“And all of this, for what?” Ori asked.  “Not…”

 

“What else?” Kili smiled, pleased with himself as could be.  “The Arkenstone.”

 

Stunned, Ori stared:  first at Kili, then Bilbo, then Kili again.

 

“The two of you _caused_ this whole mess!” he hissed furiously.  “Bilbo, you do know that Bofur disappeared nearly three weeks ago now, lost in the mines?  And that the reason we didn’t begin to search for him right away was because the Mahal-blighted _Arkenstone_ had gone missing—missing because _you_ stole it!”

 

“Bofur _isn’t_ lost,” Kili said.  “He’s helping.”  He paused to frown at Bilbo.  “Though I don’t know how easily I would have agreed to that part of the plan if I’d known just what the mines were like.”

 

Bilbo shrugged.

 

“It had to be done, so it didn’t matter,” he said.  “We didn’t want to worry you when you could do nothing to change it.”

 

“Bofur has it then?” Ori asked.  “In the mines?  What’s he doing with it?  I thought there wasn’t any way out of the mountain through the mines.”

 

“There’s not,” Kili confirmed.

 

“Then how is he getting it out of the mountain?” Ori asked disbelievingly.  “And why do this at all?  You’re mad, all three of you!”

 

Kili pouted, but Bilbo smiled fondly at him.

 

“Sometimes a bit of madness is just what’s called for,” he told Ori.  “And it’s worked, so there’s that.”

 

 _Oh!  They were_ ** _infuriating_**!

 

“ _What’s_ worked?” Ori demanded.

 

“Thorin’s better, isn’t he?  Getting better, at least,” Bilbo asked complacently.  “And that’s what’s important in all of this.  Though I do hope to be able to make it back out of the mountain with my head instead of without it, and whether or not that’s possible remains to be seen.”

 

“I still think you should try talking to him,” Kili told Bilbo.  “He’s so much better!”

 

Bilbo shook his head sadly.

 

“Kili…he won’t ever forgive me,” he said.  “It’s not something that can be changed.  I’ve accepted it.”  From the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes, Ori thought that perhaps Bilbo had _not_ accepted the loss of Thorin’s love so blithely as he pretended; but while he had also seen an improvement in Thorin, he didn’t have Kili’s faith that Thorin could overlook Bilbo’s actions, sane or no.  Ori could not advise Bilbo to reconsider the way Kili did.  He smiled sadly at them:  Kili and Bilbo, and their unseen conspirator Bofur, taking such desperate measures to cure Thorin’s madness…  

 

 _Wait_.

 

“Bofur’s part of this,” he said.  “And has been since the beginning.”

 

“Since I brought Bilbo back to Erebor,” Kili confirmed.  “It was just the two of us to start.”

 

“It was only you at first,” Bilbo disagreed with a proud smile.  “You came for me not knowing if I would even be in the Mirkwood or if I had left for the Shire.”

 

“If you hadn’t come, I couldn’t have done it,” Kili said.  “This would never have worked without you, Bilbo.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Ori said impatiently.  “You are both admirable specimens of scheming and intrigue.  But—Bofur.”  His heart pounding, he didn’t continue until Kili  quizzically met his eyes.

 

“That night—at your room—“ Ori said.  “Bofur was there with you to _plan_.  And Bilbo was there too, only wearing his ring, so I couldn’t see him.”

 

Kili nodded, his face curious.  _He is such an adorable idiot_ , Ori thought.

 

“Kili,” he said.  “Bofur isn’t your lover.”

 

“No,” Kili said.  “We just had to pretend that so—  Oh!  No!  No, he’s not!  Never has been!”

 

Ori tackled Kili backwards onto his pallet, tilted his head to the angle he wanted and slammed their mouths together.  Kili flailed his arms as he lost his balance and then exhaled sharply as he hit the ground; and then he moaned into Ori’s mouth and his strong arms were wrapping around Ori’s back, pulling him closer, and his hands were sliding down to bring Ori tight against him as he ground his hips to Ori’s…

 

“I—perhaps a short walk would be nice,” Bilbo said, his voice flustered.  “I’ll see myself—  maybe a longer walk, then?  Yes, I think a nice long walk will be just the thing.  Ori, it was lovely to see you again.  Yes.  Thanks for hosting me; sorry we didn’t mention it before.  Yes, I think I’ll be going now.  A _very_ long walk, I think.”

 

Ori didn’t bother to wave him away.  With Kili below him, no shadow of another Dwarf between them anymore, Kili’s frenzied mouth nipping at Ori’s, his body writhing…  Nothing else could hold his attention.  Nothing else mattered.  Kili rolled them over so that he lay on top of Ori, moaning, gasping…their legs tangled, Kili’s weight as he thrust against Ori driving him rhythmically into the floor…  Ori gave himself over to it.  _Yes, Kili—_ y _es, yes, always yes, Kili—_

 

Neither of them noticed or cared when Bilbo slipped his ring on and left.

 

When he returned some hours later, Ori and Kili lay curled together on Ori’s pallet.  Kili slept heavily in his arms; but Ori fought his own drowsiness.  He didn’t want to surrender to sleep for fear that when he roused, this moment would shatter and dissipate as dreams do upon wakening.  He had wished for this for so long without any hope that it would happen, and then for a brief time he had dared to hope, and then his hopes had been dashed in a sudden and painful way.  To hold Kili close as he did:  his heart overflowed with great happiness mixed with a sizable fear that this would be taken from him.  Eventually his sated body overcame his mind’s turmoil and he slept.  He was not sure how much time passed before he stirred to find Bilbo sitting in the corner again, writing in his book.

 

“I feel like I should apologise,” Ori told Bilbo, then flushed.  _His voice was so hoarse_!  He hoped Bilbo thought it was simply rough with sleep.

 

“I don’t mind,” Bilbo said.  “This has all come between you, and then to have all the barriers fall away, all at once...”

 

“Yes, that too,” Ori said.  “But I meant—I’ve read parts of your journal.  I didn’t realise—“  Bilbo interrupted him with a smile.

 

“I have hardly been respectful of your privacy, Ori,” he said, “hiding here without your knowledge as I have.  It’s fine.”

 

“Did you learn that habit from Kili or did he begin to say it because you did?” Ori asked curiously.  “He’s been telling me ‘things will be fine’ for weeks.”

 

“I suppose that was me,” Bilbo sheepishly replied.  “Though Kili was the one who decided something must be done and came to me for help, this has not been easy for him.  I spent much time reassuring him, especially in the beginning.”

 

“And he has been reassuring me in turn,” Ori said with a smile before taking a deep breath and turning the conversation back to his confession.  “Some of the passages I read—they were quite personal.”

 

Bilbo sighed.

 

“Thorin’s and my love grew in front of the Company and it broke apart with all of you as witness as well,” he said,  “much as you and Kili have come together with an audience.  I cannot imagine you read anything you might not have guessed.”

 

“Perhaps,” Ori said.  “But I apologise nonetheless.  I will violate your privacy no more.”

 

“Thank you, Ori,” Bilbo replied.  “For your sensitivity, and for everything you have done for Kili and me.  I will do my best to ensure that no blame for this falls on you.”

 

“I would have helped you even if Kili were not the one asking it,” Ori said.  “And as he _was_ the one asking, and I am as able to resist him as I am able to give up breathing…”  He smiled teasingly.  “Of course I would help.  But I hope—would you be willing to satisfy my curiosity?”

 

“Of course,” Bilbo said.  “To the extent that I can, at any rate.  What would you like to know?”

 

“ _How_?” said Ori, and then belatedly checked that he had not woken Kili.  “How did you _do_ it, and what made you think it would work, and what will you do now, and what about Bofur—“

 

Laughing, Bilbo held his hands up in surrender.

 

“I’ll answer what I can, but one question at a time, please!” he requested.  “With which question would you like me to begin?”

 

“How,” Ori said firmly.  “Definitely how.”

 

“Right,” Bilbo said.  “I believe I must begin with Kili’s arrival to the Mirkwood…”

 

Ori listened with fascination to Bilbo’s tale:  how Kili had come to the gates of Thranduil’s halls, only to be refused entrance until Tauriel happened by and ordered that he be let in; how he had told Bilbo of his suspicions regarding the Arkenstone’s effect on Thorin and pleaded with Bilbo to help him destroy it; how Bilbo had at first refused, certain that the task was impossible and unsure that it would work as they hoped even if they should succeed in the theft.

 

“And then Legolas overheard us arguing, and he insisted that he and Tauriel would assist us,” Bilbo paused in his explanation to smile mischievously at Ori.  “While I believe he truly wished to help, I also believe that a not insignificant motive for his offer was to get Kili back to Erebor and away from Tauriel.”

 

“He’s not the only one who feels jealousy at the thought of them together,” Ori confessed.  “I know how greatly Kili esteems her.”

 

“She’s a first-rate archer and rare fighter,” Kili murmured sleepily.  “Fun to tease.  Like her fine.  But she’s not you.”

 

Ori pressed a kiss to Kili’s temple.

 

“We didn’t intend to wake you,” he apologised.  “Would you like us to leave you to sleep?  We could find another place to talk, or Bilbo can finish the tale at another time.”

 

Without opening his eyes, Kili pulled Ori’s arm firmly around his chest.

 

“Like listenin’ to Bilbo telling stories,” he said.  “And I’m the hero of this one, so you can admire m’brilliant plans and amazin’ deeds.”

 

Bilbo’s smile at Kili was positively paternal, a Hobbitish match for the fond smile Thorin only ever gave his sister-sons.

 

“Indeed,” he said.  “Though I am afraid that of the three of us, Bofur has had the most dangerous task; and our part now is only to wait and pray for his safety.”

 

“Mine was actually th’easiest and least risky, once I got Bilbo into the mountain,” Kili said.  He still had not opened his eyes.  “Bilbo’s part wasn’t partic’larly safe.”

 

“I wouldn’t care to do it every day,” Bilbo demurred, “but it wasn’t near as risky as the mines.”

 

“Yes it was,” Kili retorted.  “You know it was.”

 

“And what was this perilous task?” Ori prompted impatiently.

 

Kili stretched and shifted against Ori’s body; and Ori’s arm automatically tightened around him as if he could possibly pull Kili closer, and at the same time he became terribly aware that Bilbo was there with them, witnessing the suggestiveness of Kili’s movements.

 

“Bilbo’s the one who stole it,” Kili said.  He seemed to feel none of Ori’s awkwardness at their openly displayed intimacy, but continued to stretch sensually in Ori’s arms.

 

“Kili, stop it,” Ori whispered into his ear as discreetly as he could.  “Bilbo is right there!”

 

“Sorry,” Kili said unrepentantly.  “I like feeling you like this.  It’s _so_ good, and I was worried I might never know—might have lost my chance with you.  An’ I’m sure Bilbo doesn’t mind, two nubile young Dwarves like us.  Probably a rare treat for him.”

 

Ori blushed and hid his face in Kili’s hair.

 

“Please, Kili,” he begged.  “Not now.”

 

Kili rolled in Ori’s arms to face him and opened his dark eyes to meet Ori’s gaze with a smugly seductive smile.

 

“ _Yes, please Kili—yes, yes, Kili, oh,_ ** _Kili, yes_** _,_ ” he whispered against Ori’s lips.  “Give me what I want, Ori:  say it again, _just_ like that— _Kili, yes, yes,_ ** _Kili_** ; and I vow to give you everything you want as well—everything, always, whenever you want it…”

 

“I’ll just—it’s been a bit since I’ve eaten and I’m feeling peckish,” Bilbo said as he began to stand.  “I’ll go see if I can find a little something, shall I?”

 

With a tremendous effort of will, Ori pushed Kili away from him and sat up.  Kili groaned dramatically in complaint.

 

“No, don’t go, Bilbo,” Ori said.  “I want to hear the rest of it.” As Kili wormed his head into Ori’s lap, Ori directed a warning gaze at him.  “You’d better behave yourself, Kili.  Or—“

 

Kili smiled that smug smile again and snuggled into Ori.

 

“You can’t resist me,” he teased gently.  “But just for you, I’ll be as well-behaved as a…I don’t know, a—a Hobbit child .”

 

“Now you’re crossing from sweet into cloying,” Bilbo told them with a roll of his eyes, but he settled back onto the floor.  “Though I don’t think it’s any stretch for you to behave like a fauntling, Kili; they’re generally hairy-footed little dervishes of mischief and big eyes.  I’ll make this quick, shall I?”

 

“Definitely,” Kili replied; and at the same time Ori said, “No, don’t skip anything!”

 

Bilbo’s chuckle sounded pleased as well as amused.

 

“He’s been impossible, Ori; I’m glad to be turning him over to you,” Bilbo said.  “Now:  where was I?  Ah, yes.  Legolas’ eavesdropping proved to be a blessing, for the Woodelves provided the crucial tool to our success.”

 

“Besides my clever misdirection, and your bravery and handy Ring, and Bofur’s knowledge of mining,” Kili interrupted.  “You’re spinning a tale for Dwarves, Bilbo; it’s no time for modesty.  Bragging’s absolutely mandatory.”

 

“Very well,” Bilbo said.  “But brave or not, Ring or not, without the Elves’ ropes we would have gotten nowhere…”  Ori carded his fingers gently through Kili’s hair as he settled expectantly to listen to the tale—which seemed less and less likely the more of it he heard.

 

“So after we—well, Kili and Bofur, of course, not actually me—finally managed to throw the first rope so that it wrapped across the pillar opposite, it was quite simple to manipulate it up and down so that the pulley on the second rope, the one that supported me, rolled across to hang behind the throne; and then I lowered myself down, took the Arkenstone, and pulled myself back up.  Truly, the hardest part of it was doing it while wearing my ring, for the world appears strange and distorted while one wears it, so it was a bit disorienting.  Although traversing that first rope hand over hand back to Kili and Bofur when we couldn’t steer the pulley back to that walkway—that wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done either.  And it _was_ rather a bit high off the ground.”

 

Bilbo concluded his tale with a contented smile, as if he had not only just described  how he had voluntarily accomplished one of the most harrowing deeds Ori could imagine—and Ori had not only had many adventures on the journey to Erebor, he had an excellent imagination as well.

 

“The Elven ropes just—hang on when you want them to and let go when you give them a tug?” he asked doubtfully.

 

“Only for the same person and only when you want them to,” Bilbo confirmed.  “It’s quite amazing.”

 

“If Legolas and Tauriel think they’re getting those ropes back, they’re going to be disappointed,” Kili added.

 

“It sounds daunting to me,” Ori said.  “I don’t know that I would have been willing to trust the ropes.”

 

“I think Legolas and Tauriel spent half a day showing us how they worked before we had faith in them,” Kili said.  “If I hadn’t seen it before, I would never have risked it either; not with Bilbo’s life in the balance.”

 

“And they proved terribly useful again in the mines,” Bilbo added.  “Bofur has one, and I used the other to supply him with food and water for as long as I could; but then he arrived to the point where the mines were too deep and complex for me to be able to reach him any longer, some days ago now.”

 

Kili sat up and frowned disapprovingly at Bilbo.

 

“And I could have helped with that part at least,” he said.  “I didn’t like seeing what I’d been letting you do without a single thought to its danger.”

 

“We agreed, Kili,” Bilbo replied firmly.  “You cannot know where Bofur entered the mines.  If Bofur and I must go into exile to keep the secret, well enough; I’ll go back to the Shire and he to the Blue Mountains; and if he must leave his brother and cousin, at least he’ll know they’re safe.  But you are Thorin’s second heir and nephew; we won’t put you in the position of having to leave him and Fili.”

 

“It’s never felt right, letting you and Bofur do the work and take the risk while I did nothing,” Kili complained.

 

“You did not do nothing,” Bilbo disagreed.  “You protected Bofur and me by misleading Thorin when it was necessary, you distracted him and the other searchers when you could, and you delayed the exploration of the mines long enough that when it did begin, Bofur was safely beyond Thorin’s reach.”

 

Kili snorted.  “I didn’t do a thing to slow down the start of the search for Bofur,” he said.  “Thorin did that all on his own.  Really all I did was lie about Bofur and me, and that meant I made Ori miserable.  I hated that.”  He turned to meet Ori’s gaze, his face serious; and he tugged Ori’s hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to the palm.  “I really did, Ori; that was the worst—even worse than hiding all of it from Fili.”

 

Ori smiled softly at Kili, brushing his tangled hair away from his face.

 

“I won’t say it didn’t hurt,” he said, “but knowing now what you were doing?  I think it had to happen that way.  If I hadn’t seen you with Bofur and thought you and he were…”  His voice trailed away.  Even knowing it had never happened, that everything he had assumed about Kili’s relationship with Bofur was a deception—Ori thought that pain might take a while to heal.  Kili’s eyes grew regretful; Ori’s face must reveal some of his distress.  He set it aside for now that he might smile at Kili again.  “Thorin believed you lied until I said I’d seen the two of you together.  And if he hadn’t believed you…”

 

Kili sighed.  “I’m still sorry, Ori,” he said.  “I really am.”

 

“He _is_ ,” Bilbo huffed.  “And _I_ am too, for I’ve had to listen to him wailing about it every night I was hidden away in his bedroom.  And what happened to ‘this is no time for modesty,’ Kili?  Do not diminish what you have done; for without your interference I believe our plot would have been discovered, and perhaps Bofur found before he had enough of a head start to escape detection.”

 

Kili smiled and shrugged, but his protests also subsided.  Ori had thought Kili could not surprise him, that he knew all there was to know about Kili; but the past several days had proved him very wrong.  He had known Kili was brave, but this secret plotting—this required a different sort of bravery than the bravery a warrior displays in battle.  He had known that while sometimes unobservant and thoughtless, Kili was not stupid; but to decide that such an action was necessary, to seek out the help he needed to carry out his plan—and to speak openly of love in words that, while simple, revealed the heart of a philosopher…  He admired this Dwarf he loved a great deal.  He hoped that Kili might continue to surprise him for many years to come.

 

“And now?” Ori asked.  “What happens now?”

 

Bilbo sighed.  “We wait, and we hope that Bofur will emerge from the mines again.  I like the risk he has taken no better than Kili, but he volunteered to do it and he accepted the danger inherent in the task.”  He sighed again, heavier than before.  “And there, Kili, is where you may yet find an extraordinarily difficult and painful duty remains for your part,” he added.  “For if Bofur does not return to us, it will be your responsibility to inform Bombur and Bifur of what has happened.”

 

The three of them pondered that grim possibility in silence for some time before Bilbo took a deep breath and spoke in a forcedly cheerful manner.

 

“The waiting is always harder than you think,” he said briskly.  “We should try to sleep, at least a bit more; morning will come soon enough.”

 

“The both of you must be protected at all costs,” Kili told Bilbo solemnly.  “And if Bofur doesn’t come back out of the mines, your position becomes even more precarious.  You will be the only one in all Middle Earth with any idea of where the Arkenstone is located.”

 

“All the more reason to keep my presence secret,” Bilbo stated, his tone matter-of-fact.  “Though if Thorin catches me, I suspect I will be far beyond speech by the time he learns that I hold any relevant knowledge.”

 

“I tell you he won’t hurt you,” Kili said.  “No matter what he said before, that was when he was under the Arkenstone’s influence; now that he is free and himself again, you might approach him.  He loves you still, Bilbo; I know he does.”

 

“Which is it, then?” Bilbo asked exasperatedly.  Clearly they had had this discussion many times before.  “Either he is himself and I will be safe; or he is not, in which case I face potential torture and a death sentence.  I prefer not to gamble when the stakes are so high for me.  Please leave it, Kili.”

 

Kili’s expression was unhappy, but he relinquished the argument.  Before laying down again, Ori passed Bilbo a blanket; and Bilbo set down his book, curled into a ball under his blanket, and didn’t move again.  Kili pulled Ori gently but firmly into his arms; and Ori slipped away into a deep slumber, his love a warm weight settled close beside him.

 

Ori had hoped to wake early enough to sneak Kili out of his room before Dori and Nori rose, but talking late into the night had impeded that plan’s success; both his brothers (and Dwalin as well) were breaking their fasts when he went downstairs.  He smiled a bit nervously as he greeted them, but no one seemed to notice anything off about him.  Shortly after Ori served himself a bowl of the porridge still warming over the fire, Dori excused himself; so that only Dwalin, Nori, and Ori remained.  Ori hurriedly finished his bowl and took another serving.

 

“I think I’ll just finish this upstairs,” he said as casually as he could.  “I believe I am to return to my work for Balin this morning; what will you two undertake now that our searches have ended?”

 

Dwalin shrugged.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “I am to report to Thorin, and who knows what he’ll want this morning.  I _hope_ to be allowed to return to the restoration of the soldiers’ barracks.  If  we’re to begin to recruit warriors for a standing defense, we have to be able to give them somewhere to sleep.”

 

Ori turned expectant eyes to Nori.

 

“Oh, I’ve some things in mind,” was Nori’s vague reply.  Annoyed, Ori scowled at him, but his brother had no other answer.  Ori bid them both good morning and returned to his room.

 

Kili devoured the porridge enthusiastically.  Ori had not known how to take two bowls, one for Kili and one for Bilbo, and he worried that Bilbo would have nothing to eat; but Bilbo reassured him that he would find something.

 

“I’ve had to feed myself all along,” he said with a smile.  “I’ll be fine.”  Ori’s lips quirked to hear him say so, but he also felt guilty for thinking of Kili’s breakfast but not Bilbo’s.  Perhaps Bilbo had found food while he had been hiding in Erebor, but Ori thought he might not have found quite as much food as was healthy for a Hobbit.  Bilbo was as thin as Ori had ever seen him, and paler too.  Ori wondered again whether Bilbo’s broken leg had healed entirely yet.  Did it pain him?  But before he could think of a tactful way to ask, Kili distracted him. 

 

“What I’m more worried about,” he said, “is this:  how am I getting out of here?”

 

“Sneak out after Nori and Dwalin are gone, I suppose,” Ori replied.  “Dwalin says he goes to Thorin today.  Do you as well?”

 

“I guess,” Kili answered.  “I did run out at dinner last night before anyone could mention it to me.  Usually I’d help Fili work through his exercises in the mornings; but with all the chaos under the mountain it’s been weeks since we’ve been able to do that.  So I’ll go to Thorin too, and maybe Fili will be there; and then we can get back to normal.”

 

“All right,” Ori said.  “Be careful, the both of you.  Bilbo, I suppose I will see you again at the end of the day?”  Bilbo nodded, and Ori smiled dotingly at Kili, then headed back down the stairs, where he found Nori waiting for him.

 

“Shall we walk out together?” Ori asked.

 

“Where did I go wrong?” Nori asked.  “You had every opportunity, the best instruction, and still:  you are a terrible liar.”  Ori opened his mouth to protest, but implacably Nori continued.  “A _terrible_ liar.  So:  let’s have it.”

 

“Have what?” Ori tried.

 

“Are you really stupid enough to have Kili in the house—in your room, no less— when Dori feels the way he does about him?” Nori asked.  “Unless you’d like him better without his balls?”

 

Ori sighed.  “What gave me away?” he asked.

 

“Besides _everything_?” Nori asked rhetorically.  “Since when do you take any food to your room?  You hate the thought that you’ll spill and get crumbs in your bed.  _Porridge_?  Not a chance.  Now tell bow-boy to get down here so we can have a little talk.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Ori stated firmly.  “You go on, please; what is between me and Kili is private.”

 

“I’m not leaving until I see him,” Nori said.  “And as I recall, Balin is expecting you shortly.  I can outwait you.”

 

Ori huffed in frustration.  “Fine,” he said.  “But don’t you dare threaten him.”

 

Nori’s eyebrows rose.

 

“I see,” he said. “That’s quite a turnaround.”

 

“Kili and I cleared up a misconception,” Ori said.  He turned and climbed the stairs to his garret.  “Kili, Nori wants to see you,” he told him.

 

Kili looked at him in shock.

 

“How did he know I was here?” he asked.  “Were we too noisy last night?”

 

“No,” Ori shook his head.  “I gave it away with the porridge.  And also everything, apparently.”

 

“At least it’s not Dori,” Kili said nervously.  He scrubbed his face with his hands before taking a deep breath, taking Ori’s proffered hand, and following him down the stairs.

 

Nori smiled dangerously at the two of them.  Ori felt a bit like the time he had been caught drawing on the walls of his room:  he knew he might be in trouble for what he’d done, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

 

“Good morning, Nori,” Kili said.  His voice didn’t shake or reveal any other sign of nerves, but his hand held Ori’s tightly.

 

“Good morning, baby Durin,” Nori said.  “Perhaps you might explain to me the nature of the ‘misconception’ you had with my brother; and why now that it’s all better, apparently, you’ve inveigled yourself into his bed.”

 

“Nori!” Ori protested.  “You said you wouldn’t threaten him!”

 

“No, _you_ said I wouldn’t threaten him,” Nori replied.  “I said no such thing.  And anyway I haven’t threatened him.  Yet.”

 

“Dori and I didn’t corner Dwalin this way when you started up with him,” Ori stated firmly.  “Leave off.”

 

Instead Nori leant against the wall, took out a knife and blatantly began inspecting the blade.

 

“ _That’s_ not threatening at all,” Ori complained.  “I told you, Kili and I have worked out our misunderstanding.”

 

“Would this be the misunderstanding that had him flat out declaring to the king, the Company, and assorted denizens of the Iron Hills that he and Bofur were lovers?” Nori asked in a deceivingly lax manner.  “Because somehow I can’t imagine you taking up with someone whose lover has just been lost to the mines, and yet here he is in your bed, Ori.  He’s lying now, or he was lying then; and I mean to know which it is and why.”

 

 _Older brothers are a plague and a pestilence_ , Ori thought.  He huffed angrily.

 

“We’re not going to discuss this with you, Nori,” he said.  “You’re going to have to trust my judgement.”

 

“I trust your judgement to be solid in absolutely everything else,” Nori said, then pointed the tip of his knife at Kili.  “Except for him.  When it comes to him, your brain walks right out of your skull and all your decisions are made by a foolhardy alliance of your heart and your cock.”

 

“That’s out of line!” Ori cried.  “And you’re one to talk; you didn’t exactly begin a relationship with Dwalin for rational reasons—in fact I’m pretty sure that one was all cock to start!”

 

“We’re not talking about me and Dwalin,” Nori said implacably.  “We’re talking about you and bow-boy.”

 

At this point Kili interjected into the conversation.

 

“I love Ori,” he said earnestly.  “I said what I said about me and Bofur to distract Thorin; it was never true.  Knowing that’s what made the difference to Ori.”  He paused a moment to catch Ori’s gaze, his mouth a sweet slant of a smile.  “Lying like that to Uncle, knowing that it was going to hurt Ori the way it did—it tore me apart to do it.  I don’t know how I’m going to make it up to him, but I’m going to try.”

 

“Ah, baby Durin, such pretty words,” Nori said.  “But you’ve avoided half the question:  why did you lie?  What are you hiding?  I won’t have Ori mixed up in whatever mess you’re trying to hide from the king.”

 

Kili shook his head in frustration.

 

“I can’t tell you,” he told Nori.  “Ori knows, but that’s as far as it can go.  I guess you’ll have to decide just how much you do trust him.”

 

“I’m not going to get in trouble,” Ori added.  “It’s not that kind of secret.”

 

Nori sheathed his knife and crossed his arms.  His face was set in a stubborn frown.

 

“You don’t seem to be hearing me, little brother,” he hissed.  “I’m not leaving until I know the entire story.  The more you try to talk me around it, the less I like it.”

 

And then Bilbo was suddenly visible, standing by the door.  Ori supposed if Nori didn’t take it well, Bilbo was prepared to make a dash for it.

 

“It’s me,” he said.  Ori was rather spitefully pleased to see Nori start in shock.  “Kili’s been helping me hide from Thorin.  And everyone else, I suppose.  We told Ori last night.”

 

“Bilbo!  What in— _what_ are you doing here, Bilbo?” Nori demanded.  “If you’re waiting for Thorin to change his mind and decide one day that you’re welcome in Erebor, you’re going to be waiting a long time.”

 

“I know,” Bilbo said.  “I’m just waiting for Kili to be able to get me out of the mountain again.  There hasn’t been a chance since Thorin closed Erebor to any traffic in or out, but we hope that soon the Gates will open again and I’ll be on my way.  I ask that you please keep my secret until then, Nori.  I can hide so that no one can find me, even if they know to look; but it’s very unpleasant to have to wear my ring all the time.  I’d rather not if it can be avoided.”

 

Nori was still gaping at Bilbo, who seemed calm, if ready to don his ring and run if it proved necessary.  Ori didn’t think it would; Nori had been critical enough of Thorin’s behaviour of late that Ori thought he’d decide keeping silent to protect Bilbo was the best choice; and only moments later Nori proved him right.

 

“I’m not going to say a word,” he told Bilbo.  “I think you’re insane to be here in the first place, but I suppose now that you’re here there’s nothing to do but hide until Thorin opens the mountain again.  But staying here last night—that was risky.  I can’t say what Dori would do if he caught you, and Dwalin…if he catches you, Dwalin will turn you over to Thorin.”

 

Bilbo nodded, a resigned expression on his face.

 

“Thank you,” he said.  “All of you, thank you.  I suppose I’ll go back to where I was before; it’s probably safe enough now.”

 

“I’ll get your book for you,” Ori offered; and Bilbo nodded, so Ori sprinted up the stairs.  When he came down with Bilbo’s red book, Nori, Bilbo, and Kili were all waiting silently.

 

“Thank you,” Bilbo said as Ori handed him his things.  “I don’t know when I may see you again, but I wish you all the best, Ori.  It was very nice to have the chance to speak with you last night, and to be able to say a proper goodbye.”  He enfolded Ori in a warm embrace, stepped back, and with a nod to Nori and a telling look to Kili, disappeared.  Moments later the door opened and he was gone.

 

“Happy?” Ori asked Nori, his irritation clear in his voice.  “This hasn’t been easy for him—none of it has been easy for him.”

 

“Maybe,” Nori answered.  “But I wasn’t lying about Dwalin.  If Dwalin caught him, Thorin would have Bilbo within the hour.  I wish I could say different, but I know Dwalin too well.  Bilbo’s safer this way.”

 

“If he is caught, I don’t think Thorin will actually hurt him,” Kili said.  “He loves Bilbo too much to be able to carry out the sentence he laid on him.  And he’s been so much better!”

 

Nori shook his head.

 

“Maybe he hasn’t been quite as crazy lately; but with the Arkenstone missing, I wouldn’t trust—“ Nori broke off and stared at Kili.  _Blast it_ , Ori thought, and sure enough…  “You took it—the two of you took it!” he exclaimed in a shocked voice.  “And Bofur, too—that’s why—and he must be—“  His stare turned dangerous.  “ _This_ is what you’ve dragged my little brother into?  _This?_   I’ll gut you like a—you’ll wish Orcs had you by the time I’m done with you!”

 

Kili didn’t try to defend himself, only set his feet and shoulders as if to prepare for an attack; and Ori stepped forward to put himself in between Kili and his brother.

 

“When Mahal plants flower gardens in forges, you will,” he said angrily.  “This is my _choice_!  Kili is, and keeping Bilbo’s secret—all of it!  _My choice_!  You’ll keep your mouth shut—around Dori too, Nori, I know you—and you’ll let Kili and me be, or you’ll lose a brother; I swear it.  I’ll give up my name and family before I let you hurt Kili.”

 

For the first time Nori appeared uncertain.

 

“I can’t let you take this kind of risk,” he said.  “It’s bad enough he treated you like he did in service to this insanity.”

 

Ori laughed bitterly.

 

“You let me come along on our quest, and we faced Stone Trolls, Orcs, Wargs, Goblins, and a Fire Drake,” he declared.  “Elves, skin-changers, giant spiders—those are hardly worth mentioning, are they?  I’ve faced worse risks with your blessing, Nori.”

 

Nori scrubbed his face roughly and sank into the nearest chair.

 

“It’s not like I thought you should be doing it; I just didn’t know how to stop you—or Dori either,” he said.  “Best I could do was come along so you wouldn’t be alone.”

 

Ori stepped forward and gently placed his hand on Nori’s slumped shoulders.  It was strange to him to be in this position, to be the one who offered comfort.

 

“Nor am I alone now,” Ori said comfortingly.  “You and Dori—and Dwalin too, I think—stand at my shoulders, and Kili is at my side.  Bilbo walked with us from the Shire to the Gates of Erebor as one of the Company, and he was the first to face the Dragon, and he did that alone.  I won’t let him stand alone in this.”

 

Nori exhaled in a huff of frustration, but the frown he directed at Ori was as thoughtful as it was disapproving.

 

“How do you think to hide this from Thorin?” he asked.   “What of this plot remains to be implemented?”

 

“I plan to do nothing more,” Ori said, “only offer Bilbo a place to secret himself away should he need it, and share my food if he asks it.”

 

“Our plan has reached its end,” Kili added.  “We only wait for Bofur to come back, now; and there’s nothing any of us can do to help him.  And when the Gates open again, I’ll go out for another ‘hunting trip;’ and I’ll take Bilbo to the Mirkwood.  Tauriel may even give me a couple deer to bring back.  That’s it.”

 

“And if Bofur doesn’t come back?” Nori asked.

 

A long silence fell over them, and then Ori took Kili’s hand.

 

“Then he will have died a hero, and we will make sure every Dwarf under the mountain knows it,” Ori said.

 

“After Bilbo is safely away,” Kili added.

 

“After Bilbo is safe,” Ori agreed.


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return, answers, and a new mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say that it is ridiculously unbelievable that I am not yet done with this, but I am afraid I can believe it too well, and so it is only ridiculous. I PROMISE the next chapter is the last one.
> 
> To the best of my knowledge, at any rate. I think we have seen how good I am at estimating these things.

***

 

 

Though life under the mountain was still shadowed by Bofur’s absence, Ori maintained a thread of hope for his return, now knowing as he did that Bofur had had help for the first portion of his descent into the mines, even if that help could not accompany him all the way.  He didn’t know when they might expect Bofur to return, and it seemed to him that Kíli didn’t know either; but they seldom had the opportunity to discuss such matters.  Nori and Dori were watching Ori closely, and his private time with Kíli was severely limited.  While extraordinarily annoyed with his brothers, he had not yet demonstrated his frustration well enough to convince them to leave him and Kíli alone.  He had begun to fear that the only way he would be able to escape their interference was to move out of the home he shared with them, and he was not yet ready to do that.  Sometimes he thought about it, though—most often when Kíli's dark eyes grew fiercely intent as he gazed at Ori, or when they held hands and he slowly dragged his fingers through Ori’s own.

 

He saw Bilbo not at all, but he believed that Kíli did.  Ori hoped that he, too, was well; but once again, he could hardly ask Kíli how Bilbo fared when they might be overheard.

 

But the largest change Ori observed in the Dwarven kingdom of Erebor was this:  though Thorin himself may not have known that there had been a battle raging for his mind and soul, Thorin Oakenshield seemed to have permanently vanquished the King under the Mountain.  If he was proud, solemn, and stern, well:  Thorin had always been those; but he was also most certainly sane, and he was more and more involved in the workings of life in Erebor.

 

Whatever it was that Bofur had done fathoms deep in the mines seemed to have worked.  The itch of that question—what _was_ it Bofur had done?—along with his concern for his friends—tended to alternately distract and irritate Ori, and Kíli was the only one who knew why and understood.  Even Nori, who knew of the plot and Bilbo’s hidden presence, seemed to think that Ori should gladly accept Thorin’s improvement and patiently wait for whatever word of their friends might eventually trickle to them.  This only increased Ori’s frustration; Nori was hardly one for waiting patiently, and it was the height of hypocrisy for him to expect it of Ori now.

 

One aspect of Thorin’s behaviour, however, remained unusual:  he continued to spend many hours at the Gate, staring out to the west as if the light of the setting sun might reveal the Heart of the Mountain’s location to him.  Ori knew it worried Kíli, and he found it puzzling as well; but if the king chose to waste his hours so, Ori didn’t care why—only that he did not revert to his former madness.  When he knew his friends were safe and he had been able to quiz Bofur about his travails as much as he wanted, then he would wonder why the king did what he did.  Otherwise he was simply glad to see Thorin’s other irrationalities disappear.

 

And then, nearly two weeks after their search for Bofur had been called off, Bombur furtively came to Kíli.  Bofur had returned and was asking for him.

 

“I’ll come with you to see him now,” Kíli told Bombur before turning to Ori.  “Ori, will you go to Thorin and the Company to tell them of Bofur’s return?  I’m going to go straightaway.”

 

“All the members of the Company?” Ori asked carefully.

 

Kíli shrugged uncertainly.  “All the ones you can find,” he said.  “You might stop by my rooms on the way, just in case?”  He turned to Bombur and clapped him on the back.  “Come!  Let us go see your long lost brother, now returned to us!”

 

Bombur beamed at Kíli and led the way back to the ‘Ur home. 

 

Ori ran to Kíli's rooms, and though he felt ridiculous, announced Bofur’s return to the apparently empty chambers.  If Bilbo was there he didn’t reply.  From there, Ori was not sure who to seek next, but decided to begin with those whose locations he knew; and although Thorin was in that number, he put off finding him until near the end.  He well remembered Thorin’s initial reaction when Bofur first vanished.  Should the king respond negatively, Ori thought it best to have others of the Company present to help talk him down.  Ori fervently hoped these precautions would prove unnecessary, but he would do what he could to safeguard Bofur.

 

And it was such fun to tell the Company!  To a one they were shocked and amazed, and so merry once they heard the news!  Ori was especially touched by stoic Bifur’s reaction, who stood stock still for a moment before he hugged Ori tightly, lifting him off the ground and swinging him around in a circle while Ori gasped in surprised laughter.

 

Because of his search through the mountain for the Company, Ori was the very last to arrive at the ‘Ur home.  The Company was packed tight around Bofur’s bedside, all wide smiles and loud exclamations.  Bombur and Bifur had claimed the places of honour at his head, and Dori and Óin seemed to have joined together to care for their recovering companion.  Ori didn’t try to push his way close to Bofur, but hung back instead and sought Kíli's eye.  When he saw Ori, Kíli nodded to him, excused himself from his conversation with Fíli, and negotiated his way through the throng to Ori’s side.

 

“How is he?” Ori asked in a low voice.

 

“Tired, mainly,” Kíli said.  “And he said he went through the last of his food about four days ago, he thinks—and that despite rationing his food and water carefully.  He said time was harder to track down there.”

 

Ori frowned.  It was one of the gifts Mahal had given the Dwarves when he created them—the ability to note the progress of the day without any need to see the sun.  That Bofur had lost track—Ori worried that perhaps he had suffered more harm than he knew.

 

“How does he seem to you?” Ori asked.  “And…were you able to speak to him alone?”

 

“He seems tired and hungry and thirsty to me,” Kíli said.  “Nothing that can’t be remedied.  But Bombur was with us and so I had no chance to ask him for any details of his time below.”

 

“And Thorin?” Ori asked, his voice lowered.  “He has not said anything?”

 

Kíli shook his head.

 

“Nothing untoward, at least,” he said.  “I think he said something about being glad Bofur was well.”

 

“All right,” Ori said.  He looked around at the cheery Dwarves crowding the room.  “Is there something I can do to help?  I don’t know if I can push through this crush to the bed and I can’t even see Bofur from here.”

 

A mischievous smile slowly bloomed on Kíli's face.

 

“When I saw him earlier, I told Bofur you had been worried about him too,” he said, “so he knows; and I’m _sure_ it’s impossible to for you to get close enough to tell him yourself.  I think we should go.  It seems like everyone else will be busy here for a while; and it’s terribly crowded, don’t you think?  We won’t be missed.”

 

Ori took Kíli's hand and let his eagerness light his face.  Kíli's grin turned positively wicked, and he hurriedly pulled Ori out of the ‘Ur home and into the wide hall. 

 

“Where are we going?” Ori asked him breathlessly.

 

“Somewhere nearby,” Kíli said, “where your brothers won’t think to look for us.”

 

“Not your rooms then, or mine,” Ori said.

 

“No,” Kíli groaned.  “Why is everything so spread out here?”

 

“It’s a good thing, Kíli,” Ori laughed, and tugged him close to whisper against his mouth.  “It means there’s lots of places we can get lost, just us.”

 

Kíli groaned and backed Ori up against the wall of the house bordering the ‘Ur home, grinding against him and kissing him feverishly.

 

“A little further than this, I think,” Ori said breathlessly.  _“_ Kíli, come on!”  He pulled Kíli along the hall, faster and faster until they were running and laughing recklessly, still holding hands like children; and then they came to a large open chamber anchored by a tremendous spiral staircase.  Walkways ran in various directions, but Kíli swung Ori over to the staircase and up, up, up they went; Ori was soon as breathless from climbing the stairs as from laughing.

 

“Kíli, I think perhaps we’ve gone far enough,” he panted.

 

“No, I’ve been—this way—“ Kíli insisted, dragging a slowing Ori behind him.  The staircase opened up onto another gallery but Kíli didn’t pause to look around; he seemed to know where he wanted to go.  Down one of the walkways, and then several turns into other passages, and finally into a circular room of middling size with yet another staircase, this one spiralling around the room’s outer wall.

 

“Please, no more stairs, Kíli,” Ori gasped.

 

“Just one more floor,” Kíli said.  “I promise it’s worth it.”

 

Ori raised an eyebrow at him and stepped close enough to fiddle with the laces of Kíli's tunic.

 

“I’m not disagreeing, you understand,” he said playfully.  “Only I might need a little time to catch my breath after such a race.”  He slipped his hands under Kíli's vest, and stepped forward until they were pressed flush against each other.  “Maybe we could rest a bit?” he murmured against Kíli's bare neck.

 

Kíli tore away with a low groan.

 

“Come on, Ori,” he coaxed.  “Just a bit further.”  He backed away, his eyes never leaving Ori’s, until he came to the foot of the staircase.  Leaning against the wall, he pulled off first one boot, then the other, before tossing them into the centre of the room; and moments later his vambraces followed.  With a smile Ori felt like a jolt, Kíli began to climb the stairs and unbuckle his belt at the same time, looking seductively over his shoulder at Ori as he did.  Soon the belt had joined Kíli's boots, and he was shrugging out of his vest, never pausing in his ascent of the stairs.  Ori began to trail after him as if Kíli held an invisible leash connecting them.

 

“Ah, ah,” Kíli chided him, a roguish look in his eyes.  “You’re not playing the game.”  Ori paused uncertainly.  “Take off your boots, Ori,” Kíli said.

 

Ori hesitated.  Dwarves were not a body-shy people, and nudity in and of itself was not something Ori found uncomfortable.  He was hardly the warrior Kíli was and it showed in their physiques, but Kíli seemed to want him regardless.  He was not ashamed of his body, and stripping off his clothes in front of others did not bother him when treated as a practical matter.  But this—Kíli had made this an erotic diversion, a deliberate seduction, and Ori was not equal to it.  His mind was spinning uselessly like a worn out gear, going around and around and he—he was too—he couldn’t.  He couldn’t. 

 

“I…” he hedged.

 

Kíli stopped moving up the stairs.  He tilted his head thoughtfully and observed Ori for a long moment before placing his hands teasingly at the laces to his tunic.

 

“Your boots, Ori,” he said.

 

Ori took a deep breath to steady himself and reached down to pull off his boots, and accordingly Kíli pulled his laces through the first pair of eyelets.  Ori ascended to the next step, unwrapping his scarf and letting it fall to his feet.  He felt diffident and awkward, the furthest thing possible from Kíli's sensual temptation.  But Kíli's mouth twitched in a conspiratorial smile and he pulled his laces through the next pair of eyelets, so Ori tried to ignore the way his brain was turning and turning and not catching.  He held tight to Kíli's gaze as he pulled off his gloves and continued straightaway to unbuttoning his vest.  Kíli's eyes flared in anticipation just before he peeled his shirt over his head, leaving only the thin muslin undershirt beneath.  He tossed it onto the small but growing pile of his clothing in the centre of the room.  _How does he do that without looking_? Ori wondered.  He didn’t try to duplicate the feat, simply dropped his vest on the stairs as he took another step up.  Kíli stepped back and up onto the next step, his eyes never leaving Ori’s; and Ori’s hands went to unfasten his shirt’s toggles.  Kíli's smile widened and his muslin underlayer joined the rest of his clothes, and then he turned to hurry up the stairs to the next level.  For a moment Ori simply watched the muscles of Kíli's bare back move under his skin, and then he followed his lover up the stairs.

 

The next floor had small cubicles lining the walls, clearly meant as a place for off-shift guards to sleep.  This must be a lower level of one of Erebor’s watch towers.  Kíli had already pulled mattresses from two of the narrow cots into the central foyer and was dragging another one to pile on top of the first two when Ori stepped into the room.  He smiled broadly.

 

“Get some of the bedding from one of these rooms, will you?” he asked.  Ori hesitated for only a moment before doing as Kíli had suggested.  When he returned with his arms full of remarkably well-preserved sheets and blankets, Kíli had made a large bed by stacking the mattresses two wide and two deep and was waiting for Ori’s return.  Ori bit his lip.  Why was he so nervous?  It wasn’t the first time he and Kíli had done this.  He supposed that the first time he had been so overwhelmed by the prospect that Kíli and he _could_ finally come together; he hadn’t had time or thought to feel doubt or insecurity.  But now he did, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.  He didn’t know if it was better or worse that Kíli seemed to feel no such anxiety.

 

“Kíli…” he said faintly.

 

“Help me?” Kíli asked, reaching for the bedding; and so they worked together to cover the bare mattresses.

 

And then everything was ready except for Ori, and Ori wasn’t ready at all.

 

Kíli seemed to see the depth of Ori’s nervousness at last.  He bit his lip, his eyes serious, before moving around the bed to stand close to Ori.

 

“Ori,” he said, his voice low and warm.  “Do you want me?”

 

“You know I do, you popinjay,” Ori retorted tartly; but he couldn’t make himself move.  Kíli nodded slowly in acknowledgment as his hands dropped to the buttons of his trousers; and he began to undo the buttons, one by one, his steady eyes never leaving Ori’s.  He shucked his trousers unceremoniously when he was done, and moments later his braies as well.  Nude, he lay back on the bed and began casually stroking his cock.  Unaroused, Kíli's staff was not particularly unusual, but erect—ah, then he was long and lovely, every bit of him, and as he began to grow in his own hand Ori remembered how good that cock had felt in his mouth.  He wanted that again—he wanted it badly, but he couldn’t make his brain stop whirring or his feet start to move.

 

“I’m funny looking, for a Dwarf,” Kíli said.  Why did Kíli say this now?  Ori didn’t understand.  Kíli’s self-depreciating words and matter-of-fact tone were a jarring counterpoint to his hands, both of them now moving sensually over his body.  “And the scant beard doesn’t help.  I may be strong but I’m a bit on the scrawny side.”

 

“No more than I am,” Ori protested.

 

“Hush,” Kíli told him firmly.  “I’m talking.”  His hands continued to slowly caress his body; and as one hand slid across a nipple he arched his back, shivering, his eyes closing for a moment before focusing intently on Ori once again.    Had he wanted to, Ori could not have prevented himself from dropping to Kíli's side and slipping his hand under Kíli's, so that it was Ori’s hand stroking Kíli’s cock as his lover’s hand directed him.  And why would he want to?  Kíli was there, was his, was everything Ori had ever wanted.  Kíli moaned as Ori touched him, and Ori bent down, seeking his mouth; but Kíli turned slightly to avoid it so that Ori’s kiss met his cheek instead.  Puzzled, Ori pulled back to study him.  Kíli smiled wryly and began speaking again.

 

“I’m an archer by choice,” he said, “and my hair will hardly hold a braid so it’s always a mess.”  Ori wasn’t sure what Kíli's point was and anyway he could hardly be expected to pay attention with the curve of Kíli's jaw only inches from his mouth.  He leant forward and began sucking gently on that beautiful line and Kíli tilted his head to give Ori access to the side of his neck, but he didn’t stop talking.

 

“Do you know how many times I was called ‘Elf-spawn’ when we were growing up?” he asked.  Frowning, Ori lifted his head to meet Kíli's gaze.

 

“I didn’t know anyone called you that,” he said.  “I never heard it.”

 

Kíli shrugged.  “Fíli used to make ‘em stop,” he said, “and when I was old enough and strong enough and fought well enough, I did too.  Mostly they’d dropped it by the time we knew each other, I guess.  But it was hard to forget that that’s what some Dwarves saw when they looked at me, even if they didn’t dare say it anymore.”

 

Ori sought Kíli's mouth again; and this time Kíli let him capture it, opening sweetly to his kiss before he pulled back to meet Ori’s eyes again.  His hands had moved to cradle Ori’s face gently.

 

“What I’m trying to say is:  if I’m confident, it’s not because of all the fawning compliments over the years, because there weren’t any,” he said.  “It’s because of what I see in your eyes when you look at me.  You made me realise that I didn’t have to be the Dwarven ideal of classic beauty to be wanted—to be seen and wanted.  That was the first thing I noticed about you—well, the second thing; the first was how good your drawing was—but I think it’s related.”  He gently touched his forehead to Ori’s as his hands slid from Ori’s face to his shoulders, and his smile was as gentle and loving as his touch.  “You—you _see_ things; you see clearer and understand what you see better than anyone I know.  I saw it first in your drawings—how true and right they were; and then I saw that it was because you knew what you were looking at.”  He sighed.  “Meeting Tauriel made me realise it, too.  She liked what she saw when she looked at me.  Most Dwarves might think I’m plain, but Elves didn’t.  So I thought:  it’s not someone’s face or body or anything else that’s beautiful or ugly; beautiful and ugly are just ideas in someone’s mind.  And then I thought:  if you saw something in me—then there was something there no matter what anyone else saw; because your eyes see better and your mind understands better than anyone else’s.”

 

“Kíli,” Ori whispered.  His hands continued to move on Kíli's warm skin, caressing up and down his sides, but his touch had also changed; he sought now to reassure rather than arouse his lover—and perhaps himself too.  “I’m beginning to think I haven’t seen you properly at all.  I never knew you were a philosopher.”

 

“I don’t think I used to be,” Kíli said as his mouth quirked in a smile.  “I think I learnt it from you—you and Bilbo, on the journey here.  I watched you thinking and I tried to see what you saw, and Bilbo—Bilbo would explain what he thought to me, sometimes; and usually it made sense to me but sometimes it was so different—fussy and strange and Hobbitish—but lots of times it turned out that he was right then, too.  It nudged me to try it, to mull things over a bit more than I did.  I’m never going to be smart about books like you and he are, but I don’t mind that so much; you and Bilbo are never going to be the archers I am.  I like the ways we’re unalike as much as the things we share.”  He pressed a gentle kiss to Ori’s mouth before pulling back to meet Ori’s eyes solemnly.  “Do you think you could trust me to do for you what you do for me—to see you clearly, to understand you, to want you for who you are?  You want every part of me—do you think I could want you any differently?”

 

“It’s not that exactly,” Ori said.  “I do trust you, and I don’t know how anyone can see you and not want you.  It’s more—sometimes I almost have too much time to think.  I get caught in my brain and I can’t—it’s not always easy for me.”  

 

“I never knew you could have too much time to think,” Kíli said.  Ori shrugged.  He wasn’t sure how else to explain it.  For a time they simply looked into each other’s eyes, and Ori—

 

Kíli did know him, and loved him; and Ori _did_ trust Kíli to see him clearly and to want him, every part of him, for good or ill.  If it must spin, let his mind spin around that fulcrum; and Ori would let the thought anchor him.

 

Ori kissed Kíli one last time before standing.  He didn’t try to pose or seduce, simply held Kíli's gaze as he shed the last of his clothes before returning to the bed.

 

“Kíli,” he whispered as his lover took him in his arms.  “Yes, Kíli, yes— _always_ yes.”

 

***

 

Afterwards, they dozed—at least, Ori did; and he thought Kíli did as well, at least for a short while, though he opened his eyes to discover Kíli already awake and watching him with a small smile on his face.

 

“How much trouble will I be in with your brothers?” he asked.  “Not that I won’t try to steal you away again as soon as I can, but I’d like to know how closely to watch my back in the meantime.”

 

Ori stretched lazily before wrapping his arms around Kíli's neck and leaning in to claim a concupiscent kiss.  Kíli whimpered and indulged him before pulling back, panting heavily.

 

“Ori,” he murmured.  “ _Ori_.”  This time he was the one who coaxed Ori’s lips to open to his kiss.  “Never mind,” he said as he tilted his head so that he could suck and nibble on the shell of Ori’s ear.  “I’m happy never to leave the bed again.  Long as you’re with me, I’ll stay forever.”

 

Ori moaned and arched against him.

 

“We’ll have to get out of bed eventually,” he pointed out unwillingly, “if we want to eat.”

 

“What are we, Hobbits?” Kíli asked as his hand snaked down between their bodies to grasp their cocks together.  “We’ve days before we’d starve.”

 

Ori bucked into Kíli's firm grip.

 

“That’s a—ah—a valid point—ah,” he gasped.  “Carry on, then.”

 

Kíli laughed and did as Ori asked.

 

When they had finished, however, they knew it was time to return.    Their absence had surely been noted by now.  So they rolled apart, gathered their scattered clothing and began to dress with rueful grins—and perhaps a few quick kisses.

 

“Do you remember how to get here?” Kíli asked him as they left.  “Give the slightest hint that you want to meet me and I can be from my room to here in fifteen minutes—five minutes if I’m at the Gates to begin.”

 

Ori laughed and shook his head.

 

“I could find it from the ‘Ur house,” he said.  “But I’m not certain which way the Gates are from here.  Show me?”

 

Accordingly, when they reached the first rotunda, Kíli took him several levels back down the spiralling stairs and then chose a different path from that wide hall than the way they had come.  It was certainly more than five minutes before they reached the Gates, but there had been several…distractions…along the route.  Just as the Gates came into view, Kíli abruptly tugged on Ori’s hand, signalling him to stop.

 

Once again the king stood at the Gates as the sun set, looking out to the west.

 

“How often does he do this?” Ori whispered to Kíli, who shrugged in response.

 

“A lot,” he replied in a low voice.  “Not every day, but…a lot.”

 

“Otherwise he’s fine, though,” Ori said.  “So I’d say your plan worked; and if this is the worst that comes of it, well—even the king needs a hobby.”

 

Kíli chuckled before saying, “I don’t really want him to see us; I’d rather he not twig to the fact that I’ve been spying on him.  Can we go back another way?”

 

Ori nodded.  “But you’ll have to lead the way again unless you want to end up at our watchtower room.  That’s all I know how to get to from here.”

 

Kíli waggled his eyebrows, and Ori gently pushed him to start walking.  They were lucky enough to avoid Dori and Nori when they returned to the more traveled paths through the mountain, where they parted regretfully.  Ori half wished they had gone back to their little nest, only emerging when driven to it by hunger or thirst.

 

Later, even when Dori lectured him endlessly, Nori standing by with a suspicious glare, Ori didn’t regret the time he and Kíli had stolen.  If he was not yet ready to make a formal commitment to Kíli, it was more because he wanted to enjoy this springtime of their love rather than hurry into blossoming summer.  It was not because he was afraid of what might come next for them.  Kíli seemed to be of the same mind, though they hadn’t discussed it, beyond Kíli's gently teasing _forever_.

 

After a few days of enduring the hovering of his overly protective brothers, however, Ori was once again beyond frustrated and annoyed.  If they would simply let him and Kíli be sometimes, then he would be content to stay with them; but despite his discontent he hadn’t yet been able to tell them how close they were to driving him away.  He loved his brothers too much to deliberately hurt them, and he knew that their watchfulness stemmed from their love of him and their concern that Kíli might hurt him again.  Until he summoned the courage to raise the subject—or became angry enough to do so—they remained at this impasse.

 

Five days from Bofur’s return, Thorin went to the Gates again.  Ori saw Kíli's eyes follow Thorin as he left and thought that perhaps now was his best chance to speak with Kíli in private.  He turned to Nori, who was sitting next to him.

 

“Thorin’s been going to the Gates a lot, and Kíli's worried about him,” he told his brother.  “I’m going to go with him.  We won’t do anything you might object to, only sit close enough to the Gates to see Thorin.”

 

Nori eyed him sceptically.

 

“You have ulterior motives,” he said.

 

“Of _course_ I have ulterior motives,” Ori hissed.  “I would like to speak to Kíli without you or Dori overhearing us for fifteen _Mahal-blessed_ minutes!  And you’re going to let me do it or I’m going to resort to other measures.”

 

“This had better not have anything to do with that trouble of his,” Nori said with a frown.

 

“Did you not hear me, Nori?” Ori asked.  “I said we are going to be within Thorin’s eyesight.  Exactly what do you think we’re going to do, sneak Bilbo out of the mountain right in front of him?”

 

Nori curtly nodded his assent, but his frown didn’t disappear.  Ori suspected he or Dori would ‘happen’ by in a little while, but perhaps he and Kíli would have time enough for Kíli to tell him about Bofur’s travails in the mines or how Bilbo fared.  Ori had gone to visit an ever-strengthening Bofur every day; but most of the Company came by to see him at some point during the day and Bombur was always hovering close to his brother, so Ori hadn’t dared ask Bofur about his risky venture for fear of being overheard.  He thought Kíli might have had better luck, though; and he knew Kíli saw Bilbo regularly.  When Kíli might attempt to smuggle their Hobbit back to the Mirkwood Ori didn’t know.  He hoped he would have the chance to see Bilbo again before he left.

 

But Bofur’s health concerned Ori more than Bilbo’s safety.  Bilbo had stayed hidden all this time without incident; Ori trusted that he would be able to remain undetected until he left.  Bofur…Bofur was recovering from the physical strain of his ordeal and he mostly seemed his usual genial self, but sometimes there was a look in his eye or a tilt to his head as if he were listening to a voice only he could hear.  Ori wanted to know if Kíli had noticed this change in their friend as well.

 

And a part of him truly did want to speak to Kíli without a brother hovering nearby, even if he didn’t learn one thing about Bofur or Bilbo but only talked fifteen minutes of nonsense.

 

Accordingly Ori warned Kíli after they had settled to watching Thorin from a nook close by the Gates.

 

“I suspect we don’t have very long,” he said, “and I want to know how Bofur and Bilbo both fare, and then I expect you to make excessively gallant love to me with whatever time remains.  So be thorough but concise, if you please.”

 

Kíli's smile was wide as he tried to suppress a laugh.

 

“Bofur’s fine; Bilbo’s fine,” he said.  “How’s that?”  He leant in to steal a lingering kiss.  “Is there a particular subject on which I am expected to hold forth, or will anything do?  I warn you, if you want poetry you should go to Bilbo; my poems are truly awful.”

 

“I will do without the poetry, then,” Ori teased.  “But that was a terser report on Bofur and Bilbo’s wellbeing than I intended.  Have you been able to speak privately with Bofur?  What has he told you of his time in the mines?”

 

“Very little,” Kíli sighed.  “Bombur is almost always there, so Bofur hasn’t had much time to tell me much—only that it wasn’t what he had expected.  I didn’t know he had any expectations, so I don’t know what that means.  I think he’s fine, though:  healthy again and staying home only because it makes Bombur happy.”

 

“He doesn’t seem any different than he was before to you?” Ori pressed.

 

“No,” Kíli said.  “Does he seem changed to you?”

 

“Perhaps a bit,” Ori said.  “It’s not really something I can name, only—a look, or the way he falls silent sometimes.”

 

Kíli shrugged.  “Haven’t noticed,” he said.

 

“And Bilbo?” Ori asked.

 

Kíli sighed heavily before answering.  “I haven’t seen Bilbo much,” he said.  “I’m not even sure if he’s staying in my rooms at all during the day.  He did say when I saw him last that he spent a fair bit of time sitting with Bofur; maybe he knows more than I do.”

 

“Has he told you where he is when he’s not with Bofur and not in your rooms?” Ori asked worriedly.  He had not been concerned about Bilbo’s safety because he had thought Bilbo was being cautious, but if Bilbo was out in Erebor instead of hidden in Kíli's rooms…

 

Kíli shook his head, but there was something in the way he pursed his lips...

 

“Let’s hear it then,” Ori said.  “You may not _know_ , but you have an idea.”

 

“I have a guess,” Kíli prevaricated.  Ori frowned expectantly at him, and Kíli sighed once more.  “I think he’s following Thorin.”

 

“ _What_?” Ori hissed.  “I can’t believe he would take such a risk!”

 

Kíli shrugged.  “Like I said:  I don’t know; it’s just a guess.  And I hope it’s not such a gamble as that; you know I think that now that Thorin’s sane again it’s likely he regrets Bilbo’s banishment.”

 

“I don’t like it,” Ori said.  “I’m not as confident in Thorin’s contrition as you, and when I saw him…already I worried that he was forced to wear his ring too much, he looked so pale; and if he is sitting with Bofur and haunting Thorin and in general wandering the mountain when he should be hiding…why would he endanger himself so?”

 

Kíli's gaze turned to Thorin, standing at the Gates.

 

“We’re done now,” he said simply.  “It’s time for him to leave, whenever we can manage it.  He may be too scared to confront Thorin, but I know he misses him.”

 

_Oh, Bilbo_.  Ori blinked back tears, and Kíli gently tugged him closer so that Ori could lean his head on his lover’s shoulder.

 

“I wish…” Ori said after a while.

 

“I know,” Kíli answered.  They sat in silence, watching Thorin; and Ori wondered if Bilbo was there somewhere, watching as well.

 

“Do you know,” Kíli said after a while, “I don’t know the name of my favourite colour?”

 

Ori pulled back to look at him quizzically.

 

“Pardon?” he said.

 

“The loveliest colour in the world, the most beautiful sight in all Middle Earth,” Kíli said, “and I don’t know what to call it.”

 

“Kíli?” Ori said.  “You’ve lost me.”  Kíli smiled at him.

 

“I don’t know if it counts as ‘excessively gallant love,’” he told Ori.  “But it’s the truth.”

 

Ori frowned at him, and Kíli tilted his chin up and leant forward to kiss Ori’s eyelids, which had fluttered shut as Kíli moved closer.  Kíli did not pull back after, but bowed his head until his forehead rested against Ori’s.

 

“Your eyes,” Kíli whispered.  “So beautiful, and I couldn’t tell you what colour they are.”

 

Ori’s breath caught and he knew he blushed.

 

“Kíli…” he murmured shyly.

 

“Do you know?” Kíli asked him.  “What colour that is?  Not brown, not exactly; not red—“

 

“Dori says they’re topaz,” Ori whispered.  When he had suggested Kíli should ‘make love’ to him, he had been jesting…

 

“They’re not topaz,” Kíli disagreed.  “Topaz is too pale, too shallow.”  He tilted his head in thought, his eyes intense as they gazed into Ori’s.  “They put me more in mind of red jasper.  Red jasper at its darkest, deepest…rich and complex and utterly unique…they’re a bright hint of everything you usually hide behind that scarf.  Is that a colour?  Red jasper?”

 

Ori sought Kili’s mouth in a kiss he intended to be sweet and chaste, but it was not long before he was moaning and surging into Kíli's lap, fisting his hands in his hair and devouring his mouth.  Kíli gasped and his hands seized Ori’s hips, crushing their bodies together before Ori’s weight pushed him off balance so that he fell on his back.  Without pausing he rolled them so that he lay on top of Ori, cradled between his legs.  Ori wrapped his legs tightly around Kíli's back and shook beneath him, still frantically kissing him.

 

“I’d hate to see what you think I’d object to, if this isn’t it,” Nori said casually.  “Especially considering that you are, as promised, in Thorin’s view should he ever decide to tear his eyes away from the sunset.”

 

Ori groaned dramatically as he lowered his legs and Kíli rolled off of him to sit up and face Nori.

 

“Need I remind you that I’ve caught you and Dwalin doing far worse?” Ori said.

 

“I don’t think I wanted to know that,” Kíli muttered.

 

Nori was unfazed.

 

“When you’re the older brother, feel free to quash such behaviour,” he said.  “As long as you’re the baby of the family, you’ll just have to put up with our telling you what you can and can’t do.  _This_ ,” he gestured to them, “is definitely _can’t_.”

 

_That tears it_ , Ori fumed.

 

“I don’t have to live with you, you know,” he informed Nori lividly.  “There’s lots of space to choose from, all over the city.  I love you both and I don’t want to leave, but the two of you—I won’t be smothered like this.”

 

Nori’s eyes glinted dangerously, and then narrowed even more as Kíli spoke.

 

“It’s why Fíli and I aren’t sharing rooms,” he said.  “I hoped that I might be able to—that someday Ori and I would choose to live together.  It’s early days yet, I know; but I’d love it if you would, Ori.”

 

“I see absolutely no reason why Thorin needs _two_ heirs,” Nori hissed.  “Stay out of it, bow boy.”

 

“Like it or not, I’m in it, for as long as Ori will have me,” Kíli retorted firmly.

 

“I’m not talking about this with you right now,” Ori told Nori, and he climbed to his feet.  Kíli scrambled to stand as well, and together they faced Nori defiantly.

 

“The two of you are barely of age,” Nori declared vehemently.

 

“Barely of age is still _of age_ ,” Ori replied.  He was _furious_.  Grabbing Kíli's hand, he pulled him past Nori and out of their nook, only to stop short.  A still remonstrating Nori followed but then fell abruptly silent.  Alone at the Gate, Thorin was speaking quietly to someone only he seemed to see—or perhaps no one; his eyes still searched the western horizon.

 

And then— _Mahal,_ Ori groaned—Bilbo was there, swaying irresolutely from foot to foot on the far side of the Gates from where Thorin stood.

 

“What is winter like, in your gentle Shire?” the king asked.  Bilbo seemed as taken aback as Ori was; Thorin had no more reaction to his presence than this?

 

“Not so harsh as winter on the mountain, certainly,” Bilbo said after a short pause.  “The Shire is further south after all, and sheltered from the sort of storms that seem to blow in from the plains to the south-east of here.  Generally there’s enough snow to make the fire seem all the warmer, and for the fauntlings to build snow Hobbits and have snowball fights; but not so much that one becomes sick of shovelling the path.  And I suspect spring may come on faster as well, though it’s difficult for me to read the state of the earth under Smaug’s Desolation.  Perhaps the coming year’s seasons will be different here than they have been since before the Dragon came.”

 

“Do you think you are snug in your Hobbit hole, sitting in your soft chair beside the fire, reading one of your Elven books?” Thorin asked.  He didn’t look at Bilbo as he did, but continued to direct his gaze to the west.  “Surely you must have reached the Shire by now.”

 

“Thorin,” Bilbo said.  “I am here.  I stand speaking with you at the Gates of Erebor.”

 

Oh, Thorin’s _smile_ —how could a smile be so tragic!

 

“I have thought so before,” he said.  “I have felt your sweet kiss on my temple as I lay near sleep; I have tasted your presence on the air of the city.  I step into my chambers and it seems that you have left them only moments before and will return shortly.  I come here and look west towards your home and I think that if only I extend my hand, your small hand will slip into mine.”  He turned his back on the Gate, but he didn’t look at Bilbo.  “I am grateful Gandalf stopped me from killing you.  I couldn’t bear to come here if I had, and this is where I feel closest to you, looking out to the kindly West.   Your perfidy seems not to matter.  I miss you in spite of it.”

 

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, his voice devastated.  “My Thorin.”  Tears rolled steadily down his cheeks as he took a hesitant step towards Thorin, and then another.  “Will you not extend your hand?  I should like that—to feel your hand clasp mine again.”

 

“No,” Thorin said.  “I choose not to shatter these dreams.  In this one thing I will cling to the insanity that has plagued me.  No matter what I wish, you are not real; and I cannot succumb so far as to act as if you are.”

 

“Thorin—“ Bilbo cried, “I _am_ here,” but the king had already strode away.  Their Hobbit covered his face with his hands as his silent tears turned to sobs.

 

“Bilbo,” Kíli said; and Bilbo’s tear-streaked face whipped up to stare at them.  It seemed he had been no more aware of their inadvertent witness than Thorin.  His eyes closed and he sobbed just one more wretched sob before stepping back, shaking his head, and disappearing.  “Bilbo, please,” Kíli pleaded; but if Bilbo could yet hear them, he didn’t answer.

 

Stunned, Ori stared at Nori and Kíli in disbelief.  _Had he really just seen that?_

 

“What do we do?” he asked in a wavering voice.  “Can we—is there anything?”  He paused hesitantly before adding, “Do we tell Thorin that Bilbo was here at the Gates, speaking to him?  That he’s been under the mountain all this time?  Because I don’t think he saw us and I don’t want to tell him that we were here to see that, but he must truly think he is mad to hear Bilbo speak to him and believe it his imagination.”

 

“Maybe you should speak with Bilbo before you go spouting off about him to the king who has a death sentence on his head?” Nori said.  “What he did here—that was impulsive, I think, and he might think better of it after some time to reconsider.”

 

“And how shall we find an invisible Hobbit that we might ask his opinion?” Ori asked exasperatedly.

 

Kíli pursed his lips as he thought.

 

“Bofur,” he said at last.  “Let’s see if Bilbo has said anything to him.”

 

Bofur _was_ a good idea, Ori thought.  But perhaps…Ori had an idea as well.  With his ring, Bilbo need not have gone very far, after all.

 

“Nori, go away,” he said.

 

Nori began to protest, but implacably Ori continued.

 

“I have a thought as to where Bilbo might have gone, but I don’t think he’ll let us see him if you’re with us.  I’m not sure he’ll show himself even if it were just Kíli, but with you with us—no.  I know he won’t.”

 

Nori looked at him for a long time before nodding reluctantly.

 

“I expect you to come home afterward,” he said.  “Immediately afterward.”

 

“Oh, I will,” Ori promised, his voice grim.  “We’re not done with our earlier conversation.”

 

Ori watched Nori retreat from the Gate before turning to Kíli.

 

“Are you ready?” he asked.

 

“Always,” Kíli said with a grin that quickly turned serious.  “Where do you think he went?”

 

“I don’t know,” Ori said.  “But I thought we’d try the southern watchtower, as it’s the closest place he might have run; and if he’s not there, then we’ll go to Bofur.”

 

Kíli nodded before extending his hand to Ori.  Ori took it, and Kíli pulled him close.

 

“Promise me that won’t ever be us,” he said as he slid his arms around Ori.

 

“I can’t,” Ori replied.  “How can I promise such a thing?”  He pressed an apologetic kiss to Kíli’s cheek.  “But I can say this much, I think:  we aren’t Thorin and Bilbo.  If our love ends, it won’t be as it has been for them.  Who they are, what they value…  They are so disparate.  Perhaps if Thorin’s madness hadn’t been exacerbated so badly by the Arkenstone…  I think a conflict between them was inevitable, but perhaps they might have reconciled under different circumstances.”  He sighed heavily.  “But as for us, how can I promise?  We’ve barely begun, and we don’t know where the faults in the rock may run.”  He stepped out of Kíli’s arms and offered him his hand, and slowly they began to walk towards the Gates, making their way to the stairs that led to the watchtower overlooking the Celduin.

 

They climbed the steps in silence, each of them occupied with his own thoughts.  Ori considered Kíli’s words:  _promise me that won’t ever be us_.  He remembered how delighted Kíli had been when Thorin and Bilbo began to look at each other differently—truly, it was not only Kíli; the entire Company had been pleased to see their dour leader find a measure of happiness, and with their own funny little burglar, too!  But if he had thought to look for it, Ori knew he would have seen the flaw that would shatter them—right from the beginning it was there.  Bilbo had come to help them reclaim their home, and it was his dedication to that quest that had sparked the transformation in Thorin’s view of him; but it was also the place where they fractured.  Home to Bilbo, and home to Thorin—to each of them it meant something so different.  He wondered if it would have helped them to know how much their viewpoints diverged.

 

He steeled himself to turn as unflinching an eye as he could to his and Kíli’s fledgling love.  Almost instantly he saw it.

 

“I suppose we know one,” he said to Kíli.  “One fault, I mean—for us.”

 

Kíli pulled back to look at him searchingly.

 

“Secrets,” he guessed.  

 

Ori nodded.  “Secrets—at least, big secrets—and lies in their service,” he said.  “Lying at all, really,” he said after another moment’s thought.

 

 

A regretful Kíli shook his head.

 

“No more,” he said.  “I swear it on the stones of my father’s grave.  I wish I had never lied to you or hid what I did from you.  I would give much to be able to change that.”

 

Ori smiled at him gratefully.

 

“While I would wish that as well, I understand why you did not,” he told Kíli.  “And we know we must continue to be heedful of it, whereas I think Bilbo and Thorin believed they had surmounted any divisions between them; nor did they know how to cross the breach when it became apparent.”

 

“I don’t think it was possible,” Kíli said as they climbed the last flight of stairs to the watcher’s post.  “Neither would compromise and neither saw any validity in the other’s convictions.”  He and Ori took the final steps into the highest room of the watchtower.  It appeared to be empty, but of course that didn’t mean that their Hobbit wasn’t there.  “Bilbo?” Kíli asked hesitantly.  “Please talk to us.”

 

All was quiet for a time as they waited, and then they heard a sigh.

 

“You’re wrong,” Bilbo said as he finally took off his ring so that they could see him seated in one of the guard’s nooks, his eyes fixed on the vantage’s view of the valley below as it stretched towards Dale.  He did not turn to greet them.  “I saw that there was greed in the Men and the Elves, too, not only in Thorin or the rest of you Dwarves—and I was affected too, I think.  I knew what I must have in my pocket, but I didn’t tell Thorin I’d found the Arkenstone; I kept it.  And to come demanding as they did, the Elves and the Men…it was not justified.  But neither was it right to ignore the devastation the Men suffered from Smaug’s fury—a fury we had instigated—and to choose to fight rather than share:  no.  That I could not bear.  But I did see that the way the Elves and the Men came to Erebor was an insult and great provocation, and I could have bent to meet Thorin—only, not if it meant war.”

 

“Thorin would never have bent so far as to acknowledge any claims of Elves to Erebor’s treasures,” Kíli said.  He crossed the room to stand so that he might also look out upon the valley.  “The Men, maybe; but never the Elves.  And with Dain’s army on the march…  I don’t think any leverage but the Arkenstone would have moved Thorin at that point.”

 

“It was all of us,” Ori added.  “Elves and Men and Dwarves and even our Hobbit, apparently.  The lure of Dragon’s gold is strong, and Smaug claimed Erebor’s treasure for 170 years.  Was it not part of what drew us?  We were fools not to expect greed and dissent to follow in the wake of Smaug’s death.”

 

For a time, silence fell upon them before Bilbo turned to face them at last.  Though his tears had dried, sorrow was yet writ on his face.

 

“You needn’t tell me that I’ve been a fool,” he said.  “I already know it.”  He swallowed heavily as if he pushed down another bout of grief.  “I am still more imprudent, for I would remain in Erebor though I risk my life in so doing.”  He sighed.  “May I, Kíli?  Stay a bit longer, even after Thorin opens the Gates?  I know it increases your peril as well, yours and Bofur’s.”

 

Kíli didn’t hesitate, but crossed the distance between Bilbo and him to enfold the Hobbit in his arms.

 

“If it were my choice, you’d never leave,” Kíli replied.  “You—please do stay, as long as you’d like.  And perhaps we might approach Thorin about lifting the sentence he laid on you, and then you could come out of hiding.”

 

Ori shook his head.  He hated it, but he couldn’t agree.

 

“I don’t want you to go, either, Bilbo,” he said, “but I’m not sure it’s wise to stay.  And Thorin—Thorin may be sane again, but even sane he’s never been particularly forgiving.”

 

Kíli frowned at him.

 

“You saw how he was at the Gate,” he said.  “He’s forgiven Bilbo and admits that he misses him.  He will be pleased to see him again.”

 

“I’m not sure he will,” Ori disagreed.  “It’s one thing to say he misses Bilbo when he thinks he is alone with his thoughts and another when faced with Bilbo in person.  I’m very sorry, Bilbo; I wish I could say differently.  But—he may be sane and he may miss you, but I think he’s still very angry.  Nor is Thorin stupid.  How long do you think it would be until he connected your presence with the Arkenstone’s disappearance?  Not long, I think.”

 

Bilbo sighed ruefully.  “I know you’re right, Ori,” he said.  “But I’d like to stay a little longer anyway.  I just…I can’t leave yet.”

 

_Oh…_   Ori crossed the room to join Kíli in embracing their Hobbit.

 

“We’ll keep you safe,” he pledged.  “Until you’re ready to go, we’ll keep you safe.  But Bilbo…”  He pulled back to look at Bilbo earnestly.  “I’ve been worried about you.  You’re pale, and too thin; and I want your assurance that you will take care with your health.”  

 

Bilbo gave a feeble laugh.

 

“Hobbits do better with more sunlight than I’ve been getting; it’s true,” he admitted.  “But it’s been hard to come by under the mountain.  I suppose I could come sit here in the afternoon when the sun shines in.”

 

“And maybe—Fíli reminded me the other day that there were places in Belegost where windows were cut into the side of the mountain,” Kíli said.  “We’ll look for something like that, too.”

 

“And food?” Ori prompted.  “Because you’re clearly not eating enough.”

 

“That’s harder,” Bilbo said, frowning.  “I daren’t take too much at one time or it’ll be noted; and once someone notices, they’ll keep a better eye on whether any of it is disappearing.  And there’s usually someone in the kitchens, too, sometimes until late after dinner.  The middle of the night is the only time I’m guaranteed to find it empty.”

 

Kíli scowled.  “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked.  “I could have helped.”

 

“How?” Bilbo asked.  “If you took food regularly, someone would see eventually; and then they would notice a pattern and begin to wonder…  I’ve not starved, Kíli.  Please don’t worry.”

 

“But now Bofur and Ori can help as well,” Kíli said.  “Bofur especially:  everyone will assume any extra food he takes is to make up for his lack in the mines.  Let us help you with this.”

 

Bilbo’s nod seemed reluctant, but he did nod.

 

“And your leg?” Ori asked.  “I’ve worried that you returned before it had healed completely, and then you have put such stress on it, and without a healer’s care…”  He broke off as Kíli’s  pealing laughter interrupted him.

 

“He gets it from his brothers,” Kíli told Bilbo.  His face was serious—overly so—but his eyes sparkled with mirth.  “It’s all the ‘Ris, really, that are over-protective hens, not just the older ones.  Only as the youngest Ori hasn’t had anyone to fuss over.”

 

“Hush, you,” Ori said.  “Bilbo deserves a bit of fussing over him after all his trials.”

 

Kíli leant his head on Ori’s shoulder.

 

“And my many trials?” he asked.  “I begin to think that Bilbo is your favourite.  If you are busy cosseting him, who will care for me?”  His voice dropped to a seductive purr and Ori blushed.  “I need much soothing after such an anxious time as I have had.”

 

“The two of you are quite ridiculously smitten,” Bilbo said.  “I believe I will depart before any _soothing_ that takes place, if you please.  Good evening.”

 

Kíli squeezed Bilbo’s shoulders fondly and began to release him, but Ori wasn’t finished seeking the answers to his many questions.

 

“I’m not done, Kíli,” he said firmly.  “So you will have to be patient.”  He turned back to Bilbo.  “I don’t know when I’ll see you next, and I wanted to ask:  have you noticed anything strange about Bofur since his return?  Because he seems different to me, but I can’t say exactly how; and I thought as you know him better, and perhaps have seen him more…”

 

Bilbo pursed his lips thoughtfully.

 

“I have,” he said.  “Though it’s subtle; I thought he was merely distracted at first.  But there’s some mystery as to what form the distraction takes, and…”  He trailed off, and Ori waited; but he didn’t continue.

 

“And?” he prompted after a while. 

 

Bilbo grimaced.  “It’s not anything of note, really,” he said.  “I only noticed because I don’t speak Khuzdul.  I’m sure it’s not relevant.”

 

“If you noticed it, I think it’s worth considering,” Ori replied.

 

Bilbo made another face before he sighed and answered.

 

“He doesn’t call the mountain ‘the Lonely Mountain’ or ‘Erebor’ anymore,” he said.  “He has some Khuzdul word he uses.  I don’t remember it well enough to repeat it—only ‘zuh-something’; you’d have to ask him what it means.  And it’s not ‘it’ either; it’s ‘she.’”

 

“It’s not really that strange, is it?” Kíli asked.  “Now that you mention it, he does use Khuzdul to speak of the mountain; but it’s not really something different—he calls it _zesulel zinhkurdu_ , and that means “Lonely Mountain.”

 

“Not exactly,” Ori said, frowning.  “It’s more—‘the loneliest heart.’  And you’re right about it being ‘she,’ Bilbo; it’s specifically female.”

 

“Don’t you think that’s close enough?” Kíli asked.  “I know you like to pick everything apart, but it seems to me that’s pretty much ‘the Lonely Mountain.’”

 

Bilbo shook his head.

 

“No, I agree with Ori,” he said.  “It won’t do to be sloppy with translation work; the meaning can change greatly if one is not quite careful.”

 

“And ‘the Lonely Mountain,’” Ori added, “that would be _Zezululabad_.”

 

“We’ll just have to ask Bofur,” Kíli said.  He turned to Bilbo.  “If we all three go now, Ori and I can distract Bombur if we need to while you speak to Bofur.”

 

Their Hobbit chuckled.

 

“I am quite at my leisure these days,” he said.  “I think simply going to ask Bofur rather than speculating endlessly on his meaning an excellent suggestion.”  He slipped on his ring.  “I’m ready.”

 

Kíli led the way to the ‘Ur residence and took on the task of distracting Bombur when they arrived, while Bilbo slipped past to Bofur’s room.  When Ori saw that he would not be required to assist with the distracting, he followed Bilbo.  He was terribly curious about what might be learnt from Bofur.

 

Although Bofur was certainly surprised to see Bilbo remove his ring, he also seemed quite pleased to see them.

 

“I’ve been itching to tell the story,” he said, “but haven’t had anyone to tell; and Bombur seems to think that if he’s not watching, someone will put me in his pocket and carry me away.  It’s a bit of luck that he’s busy this evening.”

 

“It’s not,” Bilbo said with a laugh.  “We brought Kíli with us just for that purpose—distracting Bombur, I mean.”

 

“Well?” Ori demanded.  “Tell us, then!”

 

Bofur laughed and began to tell them the tale of his expedition into the depths of the mountain after he had gone so deep that Bilbo could no longer follow.

 

“She’s old,” he said.  “Older than Belegost by far, and that much more beautiful as well.  If I didn’t have to eat, I could have explored forever, I think; and each day discovered a new wonder.”

 

Ori and Bilbo exchanged glances.

 

“You’ve been doing that,” Bilbo said.  “Calling the mountain ‘she.’  Are all mountains referred to so?  I have heard the Men do such with their boats, so that all seafaring vessels are considered female; but I don’t remember you saying that before when you referred to the mountain.”

 

To Ori’s eye, Bofur’s responding shrug seemed a bit awkward.

 

“I don’t suppose I did think of mountains that way before,” he said.  “And still it’s not all mountains, only her.  But it’s just a whim.  Don’t mean anything by it.”

 

“But the Lonely Mountain is different?” Bilbo asked.

 

“Aye,” Bofur agreed, a faraway expression on his face.  “There’s nothing like her, _Zesulel Zinhdurdu_.”

 

And there it was, just as Kíli had remembered it:  _She who is the Loneliest Heart_.

 

“ _Zesulel Zinhdurdu_?” Ori asked.  “I wouldn’t have said ‘the Lonely Mountain’ that way.”

 

Bofur was clearly embarrassed by Ori’s question.

 

“Ah, I suppose I’m showing myself quite the fanciful one, ain’t I?” he replied.  “She just—‘lonely’ doesn’t seem to me to describe her right.  She’s more than just lonely.”

 

“The ‘loneliest’ was the way Ori put it for me,” Bilbo said.  Bofur nodded.

 

“And ‘heart,’” Ori added.  “‘The heart that is female.’”  Bofur scrubbed his face and nodded again, shamefaced.

 

“You’ll think I’m full of daft notions,” he said.  “But I can’t think of her any other way.  That’s who she is:  _Zesulel Zinhdurdu_ , and no other name comes close.”

 

“I think it’s lovely, if rather melancholy as well,” Bilbo said.  “Do you remember when you first began to think of the mountain that way?”

 

Bofur nodded but did not immediately answer.

 

“Bofur?” Bilbo prompted.  “You need not tell us if you would prefer not to; though I confess to finding it intriguing, and I should like to know more if you are willing.”

 

Bofur’s air grew pensive.

 

“It’s only:  I’ve never been imaginative, much,” he said, “so it’s as much a surprise to me as to you, I expect.  But…”  He paused for a moment; and when he continued, his voice was reverent.  “When I came to the point where I knew this was as deep as I could go, there was a narrow crack extending even further down.  And I set the Arkenstone down and went for my crack hammer, thinking I’d open it up a bit.  But I had hardly put my hand on the handle of my hammer, when—“  He stopped.

 

“Go on,” Ori said encouragingly.  Bofur shook his head.

 

“You’ll think I’m mad,” he said.

 

“We shan’t,” Bilbo said.  “Please tell us, Bofur.”

 

Bofur frowned, but he continued.

 

“I set down the Arkenstone, and went for my hammer; but before I could put hammer to stone a flow of molten rock rose up out of the fault and swallowed up the stone, and then it retreated,” he said.  “It took the Heart of the Mountain with it and sealed up the crack as if it had never been.”  He scrubbed his face.  “But before it did—it glowed, all in a flash, as it withdrew; and somehow I knew, though I don’t know how I knew it:  she was _Zesulel Zinhdurdu_ , the Loneliest One; and she was thanking me for returning her Heart— _Abadshomakhâl—_ to her.”

 

“ _Ah-bahd-sho-mah-kal_?” Bilbo tried.  Ori winced.  His pronunciation was _terrible_.

 

“‘The mountain’s guardian’ is probably the best Westron translation,” Ori said; and Bofur nodded in agreement.

 

All three of them sat quietly for a time.  Ori didn’t know what to think of Bofur’s story.  Certainly Middle Earth held mysteries that he didn’t understand, but this…that a stony mountain could not only live but be sentient enough to communicate with a Dwarf?  He believed Bofur had been sane before he went down into the mines, but he wondered if he had been sane when he came out of them.  Bofur seemed to read Ori’s thoughts on his face, for he set his jaw and said nothing further.  

 

But Bilbo was less sceptical than Ori, and he prompted Bofur to continue.

 

“There’s more, isn’t there?” he said.  “I can see that there is, Bofur.”

 

Bofur shook his head.

 

“That’s it,” he said.

 

Bilbo tilted his head and his face grew stern.

 

“I wouldn’t have thought you would lie to us,” he said.

 

Bofur scowled.  “He doesn’t believe what I’ve said so far,” he said, gesturing to Ori.  “And the rest is even madder.”

 

Bilbo nodded and leant back in his chair with his hands at his bracers as if it were his turn to spin a tale.

 

“When we began our journey—after I had joined you, that is,” he said,  “and we crossed the Brandywine River—do you remember it?  If we had turned to the south there, we might have gone to visit my Aunt Mirabella, who married Gorbadoc Brandybuck.”  He paused to rummage in his pockets a bit before giving up with a sigh.  “It’s just not the same telling a story without a pipe, is it?  Ah, well.  Where was I?”

 

“Visiting Aunt Mirabella,” Ori prompted.  He didn’t see the relevance of Bilbo’s story yet, but they were always interesting views of Hobbit culture, and generally they did have a point in the end.

 

“Oh, yes,” Bilbo said.  “Her husband, my Uncle Gorbadoc, grew up in Brandy Hall, there at the edge of the Old Forest; and he would tell us—my cousins and me—tales of the Forest that had been passed down through generations of Brandybucks.  He claimed the Old Forest was a bit queer—alive, not in the usual way, but—as if the trees could sense travellers in the forest and they didn’t like it—paths would lead you astray, and branches catch at your clothes and your hair; and it wasn’t a safe place to explore for fauntlings, or even grown Hobbits.  And the _way_ he told us:  it wasn’t as if it were a story from his imagination; he was warning us of what he believed was a true danger.  If he ever saw us playing too close to the Hedge, he’d fuss and chase us away; if he caught us trying to cross into Bonfire Glade on the other side of the gate, well!  He’d have you confined to the Hall before you could say ‘the Brandybucks of Brandy Hall in Buckland.’  I did try it, once…I could hear the trees whisper at me, and it was not a friendly sound.”  He reached out to take Bofur’s hand in his own and squeezed it firmly.  “So you see:  I have never heard of a mountain that was aware in the way you describe it, but I can believe that one exists.  And I shouldn’t have bothered to set one hairy foot back in Erebor when Kíli asked for my help if I had thought the Arkenstone was just a beautiful gem.  So I’d very much like to hear the rest of your tale, Bofur; and I promise that I will not think it all mad lies from beginning to end.”

 

Bofur bit his lip as he observed Bilbo’s earnest expression.  Finally he took a deep breath before undoing the uppermost toggle on his shirt.  He reached in and drew out a thin silver chain:  well-made Dwarf craft, but unremarkable in itself.

 

But strung on that chain…

 

Strung on that chain were a goodly number of beads:  smooth, perfect spheres, gems like Ori had only ever seen from one stone.

 

“What did you do?” Ori breathed, aghast.

 

Bofur clenched his jaw and Ori could see anger glinting in his eye.

 

“I did nothing,” he said.  “She gives them to me.”

 

Bilbo extended a tentative hand towards Bofur’s astonishing necklace.

 

“May I?” he asked, and Bofur nodded.  With a careful touch of his finger, Bilbo spun one of the beads.  He looked up at Bofur in wonderment.  “She gives them to you?” he asked in a hushed voice.  “How?”

 

Bofur slipped off one of his fingerless gloves and pressed it against the stone wall.  Perhaps a minute later he drew back his hand, and there in his palm was another of those inconceivable treasures.

 

“Bofur…” Bilbo whispered.  Ori could not speak for his shock.  Bofur’s claim was unbelievable, but how could this be refuted?  Ori had seen it for himself.  When Bofur touched the stone of the mountain, a perfect pearl of what could only be the Arkenstone flowed into his hands.  He touched the wall once more in a brief caress of thanks; and then before he undid the clasp of his necklace and added the new bead to the strand, he extended his open hand to Ori and Bilbo so that they might examine the mountain’s latest gift to him.  The sphere was so hot to the touch as to be almost uncomfortable in Ori’s uncalloused hand. 

 

The hush that fell upon them then—Ori could only describe it as reverent.  It was not until Bofur had hidden his necklace under his collar and fastened his shirt again that Bilbo broke the silence.

 

“She’s more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen,” he said.

 

“Aye,” Bofur replied wistfully.

 

“Unique, unlike any other mountain, and you could happily spend the rest of your life exploring her depths,” Bilbo continued; and Bofur nodded.

 

“She’s lonely—lonelier than anything or anyone else—and you gave her back her Heart,” Bilbo said.

 

“Aye,” Bofur said.

 

“Bofur,” Bilbo asked, his head tilted to the side, his aspect curious.  “Are you…in _love_ with the mountain?”

 

Bofur looked away and didn’t answer.  Ori could feel his jaw dropping.  _In love with a mountain?_   The very idea was ridiculous.  And yet…Bofur was not laughing away Bilbo’s question as if it were absurd.

 

“How…” he began before allowing his voice to trail off.  He had no idea how to phrase his question, but Bofur seemed to understand anyway.

 

“I _know_ her,” he said.  “I spent all that time learning her secrets, ever going deeper; and in that moment when she took her Heart back, she showed me everything that she is.  She shared herself with me down to her deepest depths, and I dare any Dwarf not to love a mountain when he knows her so well as I know _Zesulel Zinhdurdu_.”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo said, “but you don’t love her as one loves his home; you love her as a lover yearns for his beloved.”

 

Bofur pursed his lips and looked away again, but Ori thought he might as well have admitted it.  In every word of his answer to the question Ori had been unable to ask, he had confessed it.  

 

“What do you think it means, that she sends these beads to you?” Ori asked.

 

Bofur sighed.  “I’m not sure,” he said.  “Maybe they’re reminders, so that I won’t forget her?  Though I don’t know how I could.  Or maybe invitations to come visit again?  Each one brings her to mind, and…oh, I long for her more and more with each of these precious shimmers of her soul.”

 

“I’m not sure it’s proof of sentience—the beads, I mean,” Ori told him.  “A reaction to your touch, most definitely; but that doesn’t mean there’s a brain or a soul directing it.  It could be like a leaf shivering in the wind.  Though it moves, it has no volition.”

 

Once again Bofur set his jaw and looked away.  His hand gently rubbed his chest.  Bilbo regarded him with a concerned frown on his face.

 

“You worry me a bit,” he told him.  “You’re thinking of it, aren’t you?  Of going back into the mines and never coming up again.”

 

Bofur steadfastly regarded his lap and didn’t answer.  Bilbo exhaled a great sigh.

 

“And now I am exceedingly worried,” he said.  “You cannot, Bofur; it means an inevitable death.  You cannot possibly take the sustenance you require with you, not more than will last you a few scant weeks.”

 

Bofur only rubbed his chest.  It occurred to Ori that he was feeling the beads that lay under his shirt, next to his skin.

 

“No wonder Bombur is watching you so closely,” Ori said.  “He knows, doesn’t he?  He’s worried he’ll lose you.”

 

“He doesn’t _know_ exactly,” Bofur said. “I haven’t told him one word of what I was doing or what happened in the mines.  But he’s my brother.  I think he senses that something is pulling at me.  At any rate, you needn’t worry.  I know when something’s beyond my reach.  She’s a queen, _Zesulel Zinhdurdu_ , and me?  I’m a miner from the Ered Luin.”

 

“I hesitate to tell you if you do not realise it, but…” Bilbo asked.  “Bofur, surely you can see it:  she’s courting you.”

 

Bofur shook his head firmly.

 

“If Thorin—if the entire line of Durin—didn’t suit her…” he said.  “I’m a miner and a toymaker.  I’m grateful for any and all of her gifts, but they don’t mean I’m worthy of her.  She can’t possibly think I am.”

 

“Do you hear yourself, Bofur?” Bilbo asked.  “Your argument is not that a mountain can’t fall in love with a Dwarf, but that you’re not good enough for the mountain.  It doesn’t reassure me much.  If she convinces you that she wants you, you’ll go, even if it means you’ll be dead in less than a month.”

 

“Both of you speak of the mountain as if it were alive and aware of what goes on within it!” Ori exclaimed.  “I am not convinced that is the case, and it seems incredibly foolhardy to me to act as if it is!”

 

Bofur continued to avoid Ori’s eyes, but Bilbo turned towards him, and Ori exerted himself to persuade the Hobbit.

 

“When you credit the mountain with consciousness, you only encourage him, Bilbo,” Ori said.  “Don’t you see how dangerous it is to sustain this delusion?”

 

Bilbo shook his head gently.

 

“I’m not sure it is a delusion,” he said.

 

“It’s a _mountain_ ,” Ori said.

 

“That doesn’t mean she’s not alive,” Bofur said stubbornly.  “I know what I saw.”

 

“And Ori,” Bilbo added, “you’ve been sitting here same as I for Bofur’s entire story.  Do you think anything we say will convince him otherwise?  Do you have another explanation?”

 

Ori crossed his arms across his chest and stared at his two companions.  Bofur mirrored his actions, and Bilbo sighed with exasperation.

 

“Gandalf was right,” he said.  “Spare me the stubbornness of Dwarves.”  He directed a stern glare Bofur.  “Promise me this, at least:  that you will not go back into the mines without telling me first.”  Bofur opened his mouth to speak; but Bilbo must have seen the same refusal in his face that Ori saw, for he interrupted him even before he began.  “Promise it, Bofur—else I’ll tell Bombur what I’m feared you’ll do, and you’ll never get away from him.  She’s a mountain, your _Zesulel Zinhdurdu_ ; I believe she must be patient.”

 

Bofur scowled but agreed to comply with Bilbo’s demand.

 

“Before I go into the mines again, I’ll tell you,” he said.  The look Bilbo directed at Bofur was sceptical, but he said nothing further.  Ori shook his head.  It was madness to encourage him, but at least Bilbo had Bofur’s pledge to speak to him before he repeated his suicidal descent into the bowels of Erebor’s mines.  It would give them the warning they would need to try to stop him.


	8. Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several secrets are revealed.

***

 

Although Ori had fully intended to confront Nori and Dori that evening, it was far too late by the time he returned to their home.  After Bilbo had secured Bofur’s promise, there seemed little else to say to him.  They made their goodbyes, collected a curious Kíli, and retreated to Kíli’s rooms for a private discussion.  Kíli seemed to have neither Bilbo’s easy acceptance nor Ori’s doubt, but listened without comment.

 

“At least you secured his promise,” he said at the end of their account.  “The nature of the mountain doesn’t matter in the end.  What we have to worry about is what Bofur believes and what he will do.”   

 

The companions sat in silence for a short while before Ori roused himself to leave.

 

“Until the morning, then,” he said.  He pressed a brief kiss to Kíli’s lips before turning to go.  “I only hope there is some respite before the excitement begins again.”

 

Ori’s wish was not granted.  The next morning, a Dwarf of the Iron Hills brought word from Balin that Thorin had called the Company to meet in the Granite room.  Ori and his brothers arrived there to find all three of the ‘Ur brothers at a public gathering for the first time since Bofur’s disappearance.  The miner was surrounded by the Company, all seeking to celebrate his recovery—all but Thorin, who stood apart from everyone, frowning at nothing at all.  He was dressed for travel rather than for court and he did not wear his crown, but what caught Ori’s attention most was that he wore Orcrist sheathed on his back as it had not been for many weeks.  

 

It was disquieting to see Thorin armed; but then Óin and Glóin arrived and Balin called the Company to order at Thorin’s signal, and the assembled Dwarves quieted and gathered around the table to hear Thorin’s bidding.  His stern gaze drifted from Dwarf to Dwarf, and the silence stretched until many of the Company shifted nervously.  Ori looked around.  No one seemed to have any idea as to the king’s purpose.  So they waited uneasily, and Ori wondered what unknown threat they might face now.

 

When the king spoke at last, Ori repressed any visible sign of his distress as well as he could; but Thorin’s words proved that the conspirators’ worst fear had occurred.  Thorin had worked out Bofur’s involvement in the disappearance of the Heart of the Mountain.

 

“Tell me, Bofur,” he said, “why you have joined those who have betrayed me.  I suspected you from the start, but when you returned to us, I told myself I must be mistaken.  But I find I can give no credence to that hope no matter how little I like it.    The coincidence of your vanishing on the eve of the theft of the Arkenstone…it is too much to believe they are not related.  You were involved in the theft of Erebor’s greatest treasure, and I would know why you turned traitor this way.”

 

Bofur had frozen when Thorin first began to speak, and with each word he grew paler.  When Kíli tried to intervene, Thorin silenced him with a look.

 

“You’re my king and I’ve followed you across Middle Earth,” Bofur hesitantly replied.  “Why would you think I would betray you?”

 

Thorin’s eyebrows rose.

 

“I would have your oath, then,” he said.  “Tell me that you didn’t steal the Arkenstone.  Swear it by Mahal’s hammer, and I will set aside my doubts.”

 

Bofur pursed trembling lips.

 

“I didn’t take the Arkenstone from your throne,” he said.

 

Thorin stood and slammed his fist on the table.

 

“Snake!” he said.  “Do you think to slither out of  judgment?  I will not have such as my answer!  Swear that you had nothing to do with the theft, that you know nothing about it:  not who was involved, nor how it occurred, nor where the Arkenstone is now; else you will find yourself chained on the slopes of the mountain, prey for whatever might find you, until you decide to speak or the ravens have picked your bones clean.”

 

Kíli leapt to his feet.

 

“Uncle, you are fretting over semantics!” he said.  “Bofur has already told you he wasn’t involved.”

 

“In this, Kíli, I am not your uncle but your king,” Thorin said coldly.  “Though I bitterly regret it, for as your uncle I cannot believe you would betray me; but if I set aside my partiality, I am left with this:  you helped him.  You knew what he did and you lied to me to conceal it—you and Ori as well.”

 

Ori trembled, and he sat unmoving and quiet as the rest of the Company burst into protest and argument.

 

“I knew you’d drag Ori into this,” Nori accused Kíli.  “Thorin may spare you, but do you think Bofur and Ori will receive the same consideration?  They face Bilbo’s fate or worse!”

 

 “No!” Kíli cried.  “I won’t let that happen!”

 

“How do you plan to stop it, bow boy?  Thorin knows!  It’s done!” Nori replied.  Kíli hesitated only a moment before drawing in a great breath and squaring his shoulders.

 

“Enough!” he roared.  “Enough!”

 

Gradually the assembled Dwarves’ voices quieted.

 

“Ori knew nothing,” Kíli said once he held the Company’s attention.  “He defended me, and by extension Bofur, because he believed in truth that he had seen proof that we were lovers; and I let him continue to think that because it protected us from suspicion.”

 

“But you:  you were involved,” Thorin said.  “You helped Bofur with this.  _Sister-son_.”

 

Again Kíli hesitated, taking a deep breath before answering.

 

“Yes,” he said.  “But it was more Bofur helped me than I helped him; it was my idea from the start.”

 

“Where is the Arkenstone?” Thorin asked, rumbling threat in his voice.

 

“I don’t know,” Kíli said.  “We made sure I didn’t.”  Thorin turned his glare to Bofur.

 

“This is your part, then,” he said.  “You took the stone my grandfather claimed as the Heart of the Mountain, that belonged to him and to my father before it came to me, and you hid it.”  He signalled to Dwalin.  “Take him.  Have him show you where he put it.”

 

“It’s gone,” Bofur said.  “Gone beyond any of our reach.”

 

“There may yet be mercy for you, if you are wise,” Thorin warned.  “Tell us where we will find it.”

 

“ _Zesulel Zinhdurdu_ took back her own,” Bofur said.  “I wouldn’t help you take it away from her even if I could.”

 

“Bofur!” Thorin roared.  “ _What did you do with the Arkenstone_?”

 

At this the third conspirator stepped in, appearing with no warning, nonchalant as could be.  His jaw was clenched tightly, but he betrayed no other sign that he had been banished from this mountain and Thorin’s sight some months prior.  _He’s rather a fan of the dramatic entrance, our Hobbit,_ Ori thought.

 

“I do wish you’d listen,” Bilbo told Thorin.  “Bofur has told you:  we gave it back.  It didn’t belong to your father or your grandfather, and it doesn’t belong to you either.  It is the Heart of the _Mountain_ , and we returned it to where it belongs.”

 

Kíli and Bofur forgotten, Thorin glared at Bilbo.  

 

“You did _what_?” he shouted.

 

“Gave.  It.  _Back_ ,” an undaunted Bilbo replied.

 

“It is not yours to discard as you see fit!” Thorin growled.  “It is _mine_.  None but the King under the Lonely Mountain may claim it or decide its disposition.  The Arkenstone belongs to me.”

 

“Does it?” Bilbo asked, crossing his arms across his chest, standing as tall and straight as a Hobbit surrounded by Dwarves could.  “Or did Dwarves once again dig deeper than was wise, disturbing something that should never have been touched, thinking that because they gazed upon it that it must belong to them?”

 

Thorin began to stalk around the table towards Bilbo, glaring any Company members between him and the Hobbit out of the way.  Ori hurried around the other side of the table, trying to reach Bilbo first; but Dori grabbed his ear as he tried to push past.

 

“Over my bones do you step between those two; do you hear me, Ori?” he said.  Ori tried to wriggle away but Dori, his face darkening, tightened his grip in response.  Ori redoubled his efforts.  Without letting go of Ori’s ear Dori took his arm and twisted it behind his back, pulling up on it so that Ori couldn’t struggle without breaking it.

 

“Ow!” he exclaimed.  “ _Ow!_ Let go, Dori—I need to help—“

 

“No you don’t,” Dori replied.  “Let those who started this recklessness deal with the consequences.  It’s no business of yours.”  At that Ori paused and reconsidered the wisdom of trying to get away.  Dori seemed calmer since Ori had proved he couldn’t escape, and the last thing this situation needed was the addition of his brother’s unchecked temper.  Ori relaxed his body and hoped that the conspirators’ gamble would not redound upon them.

 

Finally Thorin stood facing Bilbo, who shifted on his feet and lifted his chin.  But Thorin’s first words were not of the Arkenstone.

 

“You _were_ there, yesterday evening, at the Gate,” he said.  “You have been here for some time.”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo said.  “I did leave after the battle, but…I returned some weeks ago.”

 

“You did not fear you returned to your death?” Thorin asked.  “Or was it worth risking it, to complete your betrayal of me?”

 

“It was not a betrayal!” Bilbo said.  “We sought only to help you, Thorin; you have not been yourself, not since we set foot within Erebor, and exposure to the Arkenstone clearly made it worse!  If I risked much in returning, well…”  His voice trailed off.  “Every step I have taken since I first left Bag End to follow you has been a risk.  To restore you to yourself?  Yes.  It is worth everything to me to see you well again.”

 

Thorin stepped closer, and Bilbo faltered briefly before continuing.

 

“I was not here, that night that the Company spoke of love, though Kíli told me of it later,” he said.  “And…he told me of your words the next day as well.  I have spent many hours thinking of how I might answer such a question, should I be asked…  Would you like to hear my answer?”

 

Thorin inclined his head and stalked one step closer to Bilbo.  This was the courage of Hobbits:  to openly speak of what was difficult to say, to bare one’s vulnerabilities for all to see.  It had been terribly difficult for Ori when he was forced to it, and a great part of his courage to do so had been buttressed by his anger.  But Bilbo did not seem angry, nor could he take any hope from Thorin’s inscrutable mien; and nevertheless he was prepared to stand before Thorin and expose his heart before them all.

 

“For me,” he said, “love is like setting forth on a journey into the unknown after sitting still and alone for far too long.”  All the Company stood as silent witnesses to his declaration, but Bilbo and Thorin seemed to have forgotten their presence.  

 

Again Thorin stepped closer to Bilbo, close enough to touch him if he wished; but Bilbo hesitated only a moment before continuing.  “It’s terrifying or exhilarating most of the time—or both.  And with each step, life has sprouted and blossomed in soil I thought barren, so that I grew to become someone I never imagined I could be.  If you send me away, if I never see you again…  Drought may wither the plants and dry the earth beneath my feet, but the soil will never be entirely lifeless again.”

 

Bilbo fussed a bit in his flustered way as he finished speaking, and Thorin closed the last space that remained between them.  The Hobbit trembled but his eyes stayed firm on Thorin’s as he waited for the king’s response.

 

“You…” Thorin began to speak only to stop abruptly.  He looked away from Bilbo and his jaw clenched; Ori could not tell whether he thought of Bilbo’s words or the fate of the Arkenstone or a tangled mix of both, only that Thorin seemed as bewildered and conflicted as Ori had ever seen him.  Finally he turned back to Bilbo.

 

“Had you not followed me from Bag End to the Gates of my ancestral home, I would have failed,” Thorin said.  “When I first saw you, I would never have thought it; but I came to lean on you and trust you as I have not relied on nor trusted anyone in 170 years.  I too have been irrevocably changed in knowing you, and at times I have not known if that was for good or ill.”  He met Bilbo’s eyes and waited until Bilbo nodded before continuing.  “That you—that you—“  The king’s voice broke, and Bilbo reached a hand towards him; but he halted when Thorin shook his head and looked away.  “Do you see why—I opened my heart to no one, and then you crawled into it without my knowing—and then once you were there, you took the symbol of my hopes and dreams, for myself and my people…”  Thorin turned back to Bilbo.   His eyes flashed while his voice remained calm.  “You took my hope and you put it in the hands of those who would degrade and destroy it, and I swore I would never allow you close to me again.  But now you have come, and again you have discarded the sign of my right to rule here as if it were trash, and despite that my heart soars to see you once more.”  

 

“Thorin…” Bilbo began, but the king interrupted him.

 

“Do you see what you have done?” he asked.  “Countless times you saved my life.  I would not stand here if it were not for you.  My heart was obsidian:   hard and strong though likely to shatter if hit just so; and you moulded it like clay into the shape you saw fit, and I was content to become malleable in your hands.  And now…”  He whirled and walked away from Bilbo for several paces, hiding his face in his hands for a moment before he turned back to the Hobbit.  “I want to kiss you until you keen with desire and I want to wrap my hands around your neck and squeeze.  I want to kneel at your feet and beg you not to leave and I want to force you to your knees with my sword at your throat.  I want to hold you warm and close in my arms and I want to throw you from the heights of the Gate.  _Again_.  I am held in place only because these impulses fight against each other.  I do not know which will win.”

 

Thorin stood staring at Bilbo, his pacing halted for the moment.  Bilbo regarded Thorin quietly in his turn.  The stillness between them stretched on and on.  Ori tried to imagine himself and Kíli standing so, separated by so much, and picture a way that they might overcome the hurt; and he felt sick.  He couldn’t.  He could only see more pain from this place.

 

Bilbo walked forward until he stood in front of Thorin, the span of only a single step separating them.  He reached out and took one of Thorin’s hands and brought it to his lips and kissed it.  Thorin watched his estranged love intently, but he didn’t move and he didn’t speak.  Bilbo shifted Thorin’s hand so that for a moment the king’s open palm caressed his cheek.  His eyes closed and he smiled softly, and then he tugged Thorin’s hand down to his neck and pressed the Dwarf king’s fingers closed around his throat before opening his eyes and regarding Thorin steadily.

 

“What are you doing?” Thorin asked, his voice broken and hoarse.

 

“I am showing you,” Bilbo said.  “Gandalf said that I might not come back if I undertook this journey.  He promised me that I would not be the same, even if I did return to my home; and I know it to be true:  I’m not and I won’t ever be.  Do you not understand, Thorin?  Before you came to Bag End I breathed; but in every other way I was dead:  an unmoving husk, long covered in dust.  If here is where my journey ends, well:  this last year of my life I have been alive, and it is because of you.  I would choose it all again even if I knew this single year would be all I had.”

 

“You do not fear me?” Thorin asked.  A tear rolled down Bilbo’s cheek.

 

“Of course I do,” Bilbo said.  “I know what you are capable of.  But my greater fear is this:  that you will spare my life and send me back to my smial, and I will shrivel and die once again—though I may breathe for decades yet, forever waiting for rain that will never come.”  His breath caught on a sob.  “If I must die, I would rather it be here and now; and that it might be your touch I feel in my last moments.”

 

Thorin made a wretched noise and his fingers clenched once around Bilbo’s throat before he stepped back—almost fleeing, pulling his hand away from Bilbo’s throat as he did.  Bilbo stumbled forward and reached out for Thorin’s hand—for balance or to prevent Thorin leaving him, Ori could not say.

 

“You do know,” he cried.  “You do.”  He wrung his hands for a moment and then he tottered forward and flung his arms around Thorin.  The king stiffened before crumpling against his lover.  Thorin’s arms wrapped around Bilbo and his head dropped forward to rest on the Hobbit’s shoulder.  The room lightened as the Company relaxed, some even laughing or cheering a bit; but Thorin and Bilbo did not move or take note of any of it.  

 

“Will you let me go now?” Ori asked Dori.  His brother nodded and released him.  As soon as he did, Ori hurried over to Kíli.

 

“I would never have thought they could reconcile,” he said.  “Never.  There was so much pain and anger between them!”

 

Kíli beamed and engulfed him in his arms.  “In future, you will have to remember that I am right more often than you would think.”  His arms tightened around Ori.  “I’m so happy right now,” he whispered in Ori’s ear.  “For me—for us, for Thorin and Bilbo, for everyone!”

 

Ori smiled back.  He agreed.  For Kíli and him, for Nori and Dwalin, and even Thorin and Bilbo in the end:  Mahal had gifted them with such unmatched love and happiness as Ori had thought none of them might find.  And yet once again, here he stood at Kíli’s side, their future shining bright and radiant before them.  

 

Then he saw Bofur idly caressing the stone wall.

 

Not all love bestowed happy endings, and that one…Ori did not think it was any innate pessimism on his part.  He could not see a way that one would.

 

***

 

The following days flowed into weeks and then months.  For most Dwarves, little seemed to have changed under the mountain with the revelation of the Arkenstone’s fate and the conspirators’ identities; but for a few—for Bofur and Thorin and Bilbo—everything had changed.  Bilbo insisted that he must return to the Shire for a time to settle his affairs there, but Thorin refused to let him go.  He and Thorin argued and made up and argued and made up and argued and made up about it until the entire Company was sick of them, and Nori and Fíli conspired to lock them in a closet until Thorin finally declared that Bilbo could go back to the Shire only if he accompanied him and Fíli could see just how dreary being king was for a while.  

 

Predictably, Bilbo disagreed.  

 

“If you escort me back to Bag End, it won’t take five minutes for the entirety of Hobbiton to have us married off and all other sorts of scandalous doings!” he exclaimed.

 

Thorin sneered in response.  “Marriage to me would humiliate you so, then, would it?  A respectable Hobbit such as yourself would never do anything so sordid as marrying a Dwarf.” 

 

“Marrying a Dwarf could hardly be more outrageous than what I have already done in running off on an adventure!” Bilbo replied.

 

“Then it is only me?” Thorin asked.  “It is not my rank.  The Baggins may be well-respected in the Shire, but I hardly think marriage to the king of Erebor can be a step down.”

 

“I cannot believe you think so little of me that in your judgement the opinions of any Hobbit in the Shire could sway me!” Bilbo said, throwing his hands up in exasperation.  “Whether or not we should marry has nothing to do with any of them!”

 

“Then there is no reason not to marry me but your own fear or disinterest,” Thorin answered, leaning in to loom over Bilbo (which act the Hobbit met with a stubbornly lifted chin).  “You claim to love me and to have forgiven me but you would never join your life to mine!”

 

“I can think of nothing I should like better!” Bilbo yelled, before blinking in confusion and looking anywhere but Thorin’s intent eyes as he seemed to realise what he had said.  After a long pause, Thorin reached out to tip Bilbo’s chin up again, and the Hobbit squared his shoulders and reluctantly met Thorin’s eyes.

 

“Nor I,” Thorin murmured to him.  He pulled Bilbo toward him and enclosed him in his arms.  “The madness may no longer hold me in its grasp, but I am still a Dwarf with a Dwarf’s greed.  What I treasure, I will hold fast to—and you most of all.”

 

Bilbo lifted his hands to frame Thorin’s face.  “I am yours to hold dear to your heart, as I hold you.  You do not hold me as one holds a possession, covetous Dwarf though you may be.”  Thorin sighed in exasperation and proceeded to kiss his lover rather thoroughly indeed.

 

As the Company crowded around the pair in boisterous merriment, Kíli slipped his hand into Ori’s, and Ori looked up at him.  His dark eyes were steady as he met Ori’s gaze, and Ori could not but smile at him.  _Someday_ , he thought.  _Someday_.

 

Bilbo’s preparations for traveling to the Shire were simple enough, but readying Erebor to do without its king for some months was not such an easy task.  Balin flurried from task to task so as to complete as much as possible before Thorin’s departure; Thorin glared any naysayers into submission; and Fíli, fretting about his upcoming responsibilities, constantly cornered Kíli and Ori to demand their help.  Ori promised to do what he could to aid Fíli; but Kíli laughed, claiming he would be too busy taking advantage of Thorin’s absence by lolling about doing nothing and couldn’t be bothered with Fíli’s worries.

 

It was during one of these sessions, while he and Kíli listened to Fíli quietly panic, that Bilbo came seeking Ori.  Without politesse he pulled Ori away from the brothers until they were far enough that Ori could no longer hear Fíli’s anxious moaning or Kíli’s teasing response.

 

“Bofur has disappeared again,” Bilbo told him as soon as they were alone.

 

“ _Again_?” Ori asked.  “The time between these absences is growing shorter.”

 

The Hobbit nodded.  “Bifur found him after a few hours, but…  Something must be done.  I need your help, and Nori’s, and Dori’s too if he’s up to it.” 

 

“Of course,” Ori said.  “Though I don’t know what we can do.  If Bofur won’t listen to you or Bombur or Bifur, I don’t know why he would listen to us.”

 

“No, I’m done trying to convince Bofur,” Bilbo said.  “Clearly it is to no avail.  Please find Nori and Dori and meet me at the ‘Ur house as soon as you may.”  Ori’s brow furrowed, but nevertheless he searched out his brothers.  Bilbo was not usually cryptic; he would explain more when he was ready.  

 

When Ori and his brothers reached the ‘Ur home, Bofur was ensconced at the dining table while Bombur paced around the kitchen.  Bombur nodded in greeting but didn’t speak or stop his worried pacing.  Bofur was not so reticent.

 

“I don’t know why a miner can’t visit the mines every now and again,” he said.  “There’s nought else for me to do, so I might as well explore a bit.”

 

Bilbo crossed his arms and frowned at Bofur.  “Do I look so gullible as that?  I know why you go down there.”

 

Bofur set his jaw and frowned back.

 

“Please, Bofur,” Ori said.  “We can’t help but worry.”

 

“Worry if you want,” he said.  “Dwarves’ll do as they please.  But there’s no reason to, and no matter how you wail about it you can’t change my mind.”

 

“Fair enough,” Bilbo said.  “I for one did not intend to try.  Dwarves may choose to pound their heads against the stone until the mountain crumbles, but Hobbits know better.  Ori, Dori:  hold him tight, please.”  Ori started in surprise and Bofur pushed away from the table as if to flee, but Dori didn’t hesitate to seize him; and after a moment’s pause Ori grasped Bofur’s other shoulder.  He struggled against their hold, but not many were as strong as the ‘Ri brothers.  He did not escape.

 

“Nori, if you would?” Bilbo continued.  “I’m sure you will know more places to secret something in one’s clothes than I.  We are looking for these.”  He reached out and loosened the top buttons of Bofur’s shirt to reveal his necklace of precious beads, each one a tiny Arkenstone on a silver chain.  Dori gasped to see it and Nori’s eyes grew wide.  Bilbo took a tight hold on the beads gathered in his hand and yanked hard on the necklace until the chain broke.  Bofur moaned.

 

“You can’t—“ he begged.  “Please—it’s all I have of her!”

 

Bilbo shook his head.  “Nori, will you help me search him, please?  We must be certain to find every one of the beads.”

 

“Is it—are they—“ Nori stuttered.

 

“Yes,” Bilbo said.  “Quickly now, please.”  He began to turn out Bofur’s pockets.    After a moment, Nori jumped to help him.  They found several more beads hidden away before Nori said he thought they had discovered all of them.  Bilbo frowned at Bofur a long time before insisting they go through every piece of his clothing once again.  Still they found nothing.

 

Nori tilted his head and regarded the miner hanging limp in Dori and Ori’s grasp.

 

“No pockets in there,” Nori said.  “Where’s he keeping it?”  He sighed.  “Let’s see it all.  His clothes need to come off, all the way down to his underneaths.”

 

Bilbo nodded and stepped forward, beginning to unbutton Bofur’s clothing. He seemed unfazed by the Dwarf’s renewed struggles.

 

“Do  you think…I knew a smuggler once who sealed his goods in a goat’s bladder and swallowed it to cross a border,” Nori muttered as he helped Bilbo wrestle off Bofur’s clothes.

 

Ori shuddered.  He dreaded to think.  Bilbo had unbuttoned Bofur’s underclothes down to his waist by then.  When he pulled the shirt open, there it was:  one last bead, suspended on a silver ring piercing Bofur’s left nipple.

 

“Above your heart,” Bilbo said.  “Bofur, you are a secret romantic.”

 

“And what are you?” Bofur spat.  “A thief to the core, I guess!  _Zesulel Zinhdurdu_ gave those to me!”

 

Bilbo placed one hand on Bofur’s chest to hold him steady and lifted the other to remove his nipple ring, but he paused with his index finger resting on the bead.  He frowned for a long time before lifting his gaze to meet Bofur’s.

 

“You may keep this one as a remembrance,” he said.  “But this is the only one.  Her call to you must be weakened.”  He turned to Bombur.  “Keep him out of the mines if you have to sit on him.” To Nori and Dori he added,  “Thank you very much for your help.  I need Ori yet, but I shall return him to you as soon as I may.  It will be a matter of days or weeks, however, not mere hours.”

 

“Weeks!” Dori exclaimed, but Nori only sighed and nodded.

 

“We’ll pass along the word, shall we?” he asked.  “I’m guessing you didn’t tell anyone your plans.”

 

“Thank you, Nori,” Bilbo said.  “Perhaps tomorrow morning, at breakfast?  That should be enough of a head start.”

 

Bofur’s weeping haunted Ori as they left the ‘Ur home, but he tried to remember that they did this for the miner’s sake as Bilbo led him to the small cottage near the ‘Ri home the Hobbit had adopted.

 

“I explored this district sometimes, during the time I stayed with you,” Bilbo explained.  “And this house is quite cozy.  If I hadn’t feared Dwalin or Dori would discover me, I would have gone there after Nori learnt of my presence.  So it was the first place I thought of when I didn’t have to hide anymore.”

 

Ori was terribly curious.  It was none of his business, but…

 

“Why didn’t you join Thorin in his quarters?” he asked.

 

Bilbo blushed a rosy pink.

 

“It wouldn’t be seemly, would it?” he asked.  “I can hardly claim any sort of respectability anymore, but—I can just hear Great Aunt Pansy scolding me about it.  And Thorin and I, we each need a private place right now.  There’s some resentment left between us, and anger and hurt; it’s best we work that out before we are in each other’s pockets.”

 

“Thorin still feels angry and hurt and resentful, you mean,” Ori said.

 

Bilbo sighed.  “Yes.  I shan’t deny that I have felt all of those emotions as well; but I have had many quiet hours alone to think on what happened, both in the Mirkwood and once I returned to Erebor.  And Thorin…”

 

“Thorin holds onto his hurts,” Ori said.

 

Bilbo nodded.  “I know he loves me, but forgiveness is not easy for him; and I think it is a choice that must be made anew, each day, each hour.  I choose to live apart while he gains some experience in the practice, lest he be continually reminded of his anger.  And the both of us have been bachelors for a long time.  I imagine having someone else around the place will require some adjustments on both our parts.”

 

“I’ve never lived alone,” Ori said.  “I can’t imagine not living with my brothers, but sometimes I would like to have a bit more independence…  I have thought about it more and more lately.  I’m not ready to live with Kíli yet, but I might like to be on my own.”

 

“It’s not bad,” Bilbo told him.  “No one’s snoring or mess in the kitchen to live with, no one to consult about where to plant the hyacinths or tomatoes, no one else’s taste to consider when planning a meal, no one waking you up early or keeping you up late with his noise, no one to complain of the smell of smoke from your pipe…”  

 

They had reached Bilbo’s small home, and Ori waited while Bilbo let them in.  He led the way to a storage closet, from which he took two ropes and various other paraphernalia.  

 

“Can you believe Bofur had just left these with the pile of supplies he was gathering in the mines?” Bilbo asked.  “Thank goodness Bifur thought to bring them up.  Anyone could have taken them—though I suppose they appear to be ordinary rope, so perhaps no one would bother.  The rest of the supplies Bifur left, and they are now ours instead of Bofur’s as well; but those we left in the mines.”

 

Next he went to a bedroom just off the hearth room and returned with a small gold box.  He opened it and placed the Arkenstone beads inside before tucking it into a pouch which he secured to his back.

 

“What are we doing?” Ori asked.

 

“Taking Bofur’s beads back where they belong,” Bilbo said.  “I am sorry to ask it of you, for I know it is a great risk; but I fear I may not succeed without you.”

 

Ori thought.  Those dark, empty mines, abandoned for so long—and who knew how deep Bofur had gone?  Certainly far deeper into the mountain than Ori had ever imagined going himself.  He was a scribe, not a miner.  He knew there was a not so small chance that they might not return.  He had not even said goodbye to Kíli, only scurried off without a word when Bilbo called him.

 

But he trusted Bilbo; their Hobbit would not have said he needed Ori if he did not; and he thought of Bofur and the risk to them all if the Arkenstone pulled on Thorin as it clearly pulled at Bofur through those beads.  He remained sceptical of the mountain’s supposed sentience, but he could not doubt that the beads came to Bofur nor that they drove him to seek their source in the depths of the mountains.  Whether the Lonely Mountain lived or not, as long as pieces of the Arkenstone continued to be attracted to Bofur, the danger was there.

 

Ori would do what he could to protect his companions.

 

“We’re neither of us miners,” he said.  “We may not come back out of the mines,” he said.

 

“I know,” Bilbo said.

 

“How do we know that the mountain will not continue to send pieces of its Heart to Bofur?” Ori asked.

 

“We don’t,” Bilbo replied.  “But I believe we must try.”

 

Ori sighed.  “All right,” he said.  “I’ll help.”

 

He hoped he would return for Kíli to yell at him.

 

They set out for the mines in silence.  After a while, Ori could no longer stand it.  He would fret himself to death if he didn’t think of something other than the task before them.

 

“It sounds as if it might be lonely,” he said.  “Living alone.”

 

“Often, yes,” Bilbo said.  “I didn’t know it before, but very often it is.”  He smiled at Ori.  “I suspect you, however, would not find it as solitary as I did; for I do not have two loving brothers to visit me as much as yours would visit you.  And Erebor may be a large city, but I do not think they will permit you to move terribly far away from them.”

 

“It’s not their place to say where I move,” Ori said, scowling.

 

“Of course not,” Bilbo agreed.  “Do you believe that will stop them?”

 

Ori’s scowl deepened.  Of course it wouldn’t.  He didn’t want to leave them entirely, and he wouldn’t want to be so alone as it seemed Bilbo had been; but he was a Dwarf grown, and he might like to have a space to himself rather than move directly from his brothers to Kíli.  Would Kíli understand?  Would he be offended?  He no longer lived with Fíli…  Lost in thought, Ori allowed silence to fill the space between them again until Bilbo stopped at last.  They had come to a remote part of the mines.  As he looked around, Ori realised that he had never been so far as this.  He was not sure he knew the way back to the city above.

 

“I know I may trust you, Ori; but I will have your word on it before we continue nevertheless,” Bilbo said.  “Our task matters too much—for Bofur’s sake, and for Erebor’s as well.  None may know what I will show you today.”

 

“You have my word,” Ori said, though he wished he knew what he was promising.  “I will tell no one, not even Kíli.”

 

Bilbo’s responding smile was grim.  “Thank you.”  He gestured to the mine shaft in front of them.  “This is where Bofur went down into the mines with the Arkenstone.  We will attempt the descent to the best of our abilities and return the beads to their source.”  He set down his bag and handed one of the Elven ropes to Ori.  “Do you think we must tie off to separate supports?  Or may we use the same?”

 

“Separate would be safer,” Ori said.  He examined the edge of the mine.  “I could set an anchor here.  Two, even, if you have more ropes.”

 

“You see?” Bilbo said.  “Already you are helping, though I am afraid these are the only ropes I have.  But I believe they will suffice.”  

 

They set an anchor for Ori near the one Bilbo would use.  Bilbo showed Ori how he tied the Elven rope fast and then released it with a single tug.  Ori’s stomach churned.  He wished he were not experimenting with these ropes for the first time abseiling into the mines below Erebor.  _What if the rope didn’t work for him?  What if he tugged wrong?  Would it pull loose and send him tumbling down into the dark?_   He had no confidence that Bilbo could catch him the way Dwalin had.  If he fell, he would die.

 

Bilbo handed him a pack to secure across his body with a small light attached to the pack’s strap.  It wouldn’t provide much light, but at least it was something.  The Hobbit tied on his own pack with its small light and looked at Ori.

 

“Are you ready?” Bilbo asked.  

 

“What if I can’t do it?” Ori asked.

 

“The first leg is not so bad,” Bilbo replied.  “We’ll go step by step, and I won’t ask you to go beyond what you feel you can.  If you can only go partway, it may still be enough.  We shall not go as deep as Bofur did—we must only go deep enough.”

 

“Deep enough for what?” Ori asked.

 

Bilbo clipped in to his anchor and leant back to test his rope.

 

“Deep enough to reach _Zesulel Zinhdurdu_ ,” he said.  “If we can’t convince Bofur not to go to her, maybe we can convince her not to call him—at least, not yet.”

 

Ori took a deep breath and looked at the mine.  He had known that was what they came to do; whether _Zesulel Zinhdurdu_ was real or not, they would return the beads as close to the Heart of the Mountain as they could.  But he had been given too much time to think about it, and now the fears churning in the back of his mind burst forth to seize him.

 

Bilbo smiled at him.  “The look on your face!” he said.  “Is it so bad?  We have faced far worse, I think.”

 

“Yes!” Ori exclaimed, but he tested the security of his anchor and stepped to the edge of the mine shaft as well.  “But I had no time to think then!  It’s different when it is happening all at once—it can be terrifying; but you cannot stop to fret, you must act.  Before the Battle of Five Armies—that was very hard for me.  In some ways, the battle was easier than the waiting beforehand.”

 

“It is one of the perils of intelligence, I suppose,” Bilbo said.  “I find taking a great breath before diving in helps.  Do not give yourself time to think if thinking leads to panic.”  He demonstrated:  inhaling deeply before leaning back and walking himself down the side of the mine.  Ori tried it, but he breathed in and let it out in a great whoosh, and still he stood on the edge of the mine.  _How far down would they have to go?  Would they even know?  And Bofur had stocked food and water for himself; would it be enough to support the two of them?  Hobbits could eat a lot…_

 

“Ori?” Bilbo called.  “You have gone into the mines before!”

 

“I’m thinking!” he replied desperately.

 

“Well, stop it!” Bilbo told him.  “Look at your feet, and move one step at a time, and think of nothing but where the next foot will go!”

 

Ori tried.  He looked at his feet and leant back against the rope’s support and froze.  _What if they never came back?  Why hadn’t he insisted Bilbo wait while he told Kíli where they went?  Even if he couldn’t come with them, Ori could at least have told Kíli face to face instead of leaving it to his brother…_

 

“Ori!” Bilbo called again.

 

“I can’t stop thinking!” Ori said.  

 

“Think of your feet moving,” Bilbo said.

 

“It is a long way to abseil,” Ori said.  “And we have no idea what awaits us.”

 

“I have gone part of the way,” Bilbo replied.  “It was fairly straightforward, only deep.”

 

“I should have said goodbye to Kíli myself,” Ori said.  “He will be so hurt and worried when Nori tells them, and I could have kissed him one last time.”

 

“We are not going to die,” Bilbo said.  “I am sorry I didn’t give you a chance to tell him where we went; but you will see him again, and feel free to blame me for it!  Now look at your feet.”  Ori did.  “Step back, and do not think of each step as a step towards your doom or away from Kíli; each step is another step on the road, and each step on the road is one that brings you closer to the bend in the path where you will see him next.”

 

“Many thanks,” Ori said testily.  “I had not thought of them as steps away from Kíli until you said so.”

 

“Move your feet, Ori,” Bilbo said, “or I will come up there and make you!”

 

“As if you could,” Ori retorted, but Bilbo’s words finally had the desired effect:  Ori began his descent into the mine.  When he was even with Bilbo, the Hobbit began to move again as well.

 

Bilbo went down at a steady clip; and while Ori would have preferred a more cautious pace, he adjusted soon enough.  It didn’t seem long until the light above them faded away into a thin glimmer that could no longer reach them and they had only the wavering lights strapped to their shoulders to illumine the way.  After a time the silence began to wear on Ori, and he spoke.

 

“Why did you choose me?” he asked.  “I am an unlikely adventurer.”

 

Bilbo laughed.  “No more so than I.  Perhaps both of us seem unlikely choices for this venture.  But I saw the need, and I would not ask someone else to risk danger I was unwilling to face.  And you—you underestimate yourself, Ori.  You are far more than you seem.”

 

“I  wasn’t afraid at the beginning of the quest,” Ori said.  “It seemed such a heroic undertaking, and I wanted to be a part of it.  The further we went, the more I understood what we faced, the more I learnt to fear.”

 

“And still you faced every peril, and you are here for yet another adventure,” Bilbo said.  “Your bravery is all the greater for your fear.  I do not know if all Dwarves are as brave as the Company, but none of you have ever turned to run when I yearned to, and the Hobbits who would not flee at the slightest of your trials are few.”  He paused.  “But perhaps I underestimate my people.  I would have said the same of myself before I began.”

 

“Dwarves are sturdy as stone, and some of us are very brave, and the rest of us stubborn,” Ori said.  “But the Company:  we were two-thirds of us misfits, completely unsuited for such a quest.  When Thorin called we came out of loyalty, to be part of something bigger than we were; and he took us because no one else would come.”

 

“Bofur claims to have joined for the free ale,” Bilbo replied with a chuckle.  “And you are all stubborn, every one of you.  But I think all of us learnt that we were more than we knew we were—even Thorin.  Or Dwalin and Fíli, who were both experienced fighters, fully confident in their abilities.”

 

“I’m not sure what Dwalin might have learnt,” Ori said.  “He doesn’t seem very different to me.”

 

“Doesn’t he?” Bilbo asked.  “Dwalin learnt to trust his heart to another.  I think he may have learnt more than any of us.”

 

For a time Ori was quiet as he thought about that—about Dwalin learning to love and be loved in his turn.  If it were so, it was a lesson that he had learnt with Nori rather than one that Nori had taught him.  Nori had not known it either.

 

He and Bilbo steadily abseiled into the dark. 

 

As they went down, deeper and deeper, Ori became aware that Bilbo’s breath had become a quiet panting.  He glanced at his companion.  Sweat glistened on Bilbo’s determined face and wet the curls at his hairline.  His legs trembled against the stone walls of the mine shaft.

 

“Bilbo?” he asked.

 

“Ori?” Bilbo said.

 

“Why don’t we rest a moment?” he suggested.

 

“There’s a place not too much farther,” the Hobbit replied.

 

“Do you have the strength to reach it?” Ori asked.  “You have tired rapidly.”

 

Bilbo didn’t spare the energy to glare at Ori.  “If I stop, I’ll fall.  Let’s press on, please.”

 

“You are as tired as that!” Ori exclaimed.  “We have only begun!  We must go back; you cannot hope to last.”

 

“At this point,” Bilbo panted, “the branch in the mine is closer.  And I must ask your pardon, but I believe I must save my breath until we reach it.”

 

Ori was stunned.  Bilbo had done this before, when he supported Bofur in his descent; he must have known how difficult it would be for him, and yet he chose to undertake it anyway.

 

“Surely someone else could have come instead!” Ori said.  “You speak of the stubbornness of Dwarves!  Are all Hobbits so reckless?”

 

Bilbo didn’t answer.  Ori stole another sidelong glance at him.  His eyes were closed against the sweat that poured down his reddened face and his knuckles were white on the rope.

 

“Don’t be startled,” Ori warned.  “I’m going to go quite quickly for just a bit.”  He pushed off against the mine wall and bounded down until he was lower than Bilbo and tied off as quickly as he could.  Then he waited, and when Bilbo had descended the few feet that separated them, Ori pulled him over to support him in his lap.  Bilbo moaned and collapsed against his shoulder.  His hands were still tight on the rope.  Ori tried to pry his fingers loose gently with one hand, but he didn’t dare move the arm that supported Bilbo’s back for fear the Hobbit would lose his balance and tumble away.  

 

“Rash, reckless…” he fussed.  “Nori would have come with me, I’m sure.  Or Bifur—I think we might have asked anyone.”

 

Bilbo leant against Ori’s shoulder.  “I shouldn’t like to ask anyone to go into danger I do not face myself,” he repeated.

 

“There is no shame in knowing another is better suited for the task,” Ori said.  “No one would have thought worse of you for it.”

 

“I would have,” Bilbo answered.  “I faced a Troll and a Gundabad Orc and a Firedrake.  I won’t let a hole in the ground stop me.”

 

Ori sighed.  Not a single Dwarf of Ori’s acquaintance was a patch on this Hobbit for stubbornness.  They sat quietly for a time, until Bilbo’s breath quieted.

 

“How do your legs feel?” Ori asked.  “Your hands?  Do you think you can continue now?”

 

“I must,” Bilbo said.  “We cannot hang here like drying herbs forever.”

 

“Don’t push yourself so far that you risk falling again,” Ori said.  “We’ll stop as often as you need.”

 

“I promise I shall,” Bilbo said.

 

“See that you do,” Ori replied.  “I shouldn’t like to face Thorin if I lose you.  I think I’d rather hide in the mines.”

 

Bilbo smiled wanly before taking a deep breath and readying himself to abseil once more.  Ori saw him steady on his own rope before he undid his hitch and followed.

 

Perhaps half an hour later they reached the first side tunnel that branched away from the main mine shaft.  Bilbo clambered in shakily and sank to the ground with Ori just behind him.  Supplies were stacked a short distance inside this secondary shaft, and Ori hurried over to see what there might be.  There was water and food; blankets and more candles for their lanterns; ropes, climbing anchors, and a pair of gloves he snatched up for Bilbo; and—bless Bofur—a healer’s kit.  Ori grabbed it and a waterskin and returned to where Bilbo lay collapsed on the rock.  As gently as he could, he prised open his companion’s clenched fists.

 

“Oh, Bilbo,” he murmured.  As he had suspected, the Hobbit’s hands were rubbed raw.  “How did this happen?  You cannot have done this to yourself when you helped Bofur.”

 

“I had gloves then,” Bilbo said.  “But I couldn’t find any in the supplies above, and Bofur didn’t use them.  I thought it would be fine.”

 

“Bofur is a Dwarf—and a Dwarf with miner’s hands,” Ori said.  “But I found a pair of gloves in this cache.  When we begin the next leg of the descent, we will be better prepared.  For now, let me clean your hands and bandage them, and then rest.”

 

Ori set to, rinsing Bilbo’s hands before carefully drying them.  He applied a healing ointment to the palms and wrapped them, and when he was done he insisted that Bilbo lie down while he investigated their supply cache more thoroughly.  Ori tucked his companion under one of the blankets, and the Hobbit sighed and closed his eyes.  Ori watched him for a moment.  Bilbo was dear to him, and very brave; but for an intelligent and well-read Hobbit he had been extraordinarily stupid.  He had leapt in when he didn’t know what he was doing, and Ori had followed trustingly because he was used to someone else leading the way.  He liked to think that he was intelligent as well, but in this he had been as thoughtless as Bilbo.  That must change.

 

Bilbo may have done this before; but from this point, Ori would be the one who led.  He turned to the supplies.  He would see what they had that he might plan from there—and whatever else he might be able to do, first of all he would rig a harness for each of them out of some of the rope so that they had some support other than their own hands and feet; and he would rest himself; and in the morning he would inspect Bilbo’s hands and decide if he would continue with or without the Hobbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's good news (I hope) and bad, and it's the same thing: I signed up for the Hobbit Big Bang, and my rough draft needs to be finished by April 1st. No, that's not a joke.
> 
> I regret it only because I assumed when I signed up (a couple of months ago) that I would be long done with this, and of course I am not; and now I will have to prioritize that project for a short time. But I promise it will only be a slightly longer wait for the next chapter of this (which I SWEAR will be the last chapter of "Where Lies the Heart").
> 
> Feel free to find that claim as ridiculous as I feel when I make it for the umpteenth time...


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